


Will-o'-the-wisp

by GhostoftheMotif



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action, Crossover, Developing Relationship, Fae & Fairies, First Time, Friendship, Harm to Animals, Immortality, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 108,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostoftheMotif/pseuds/GhostoftheMotif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given enough time, Loki believes he could develop an affinity for Tony Stark. The issue is that mortals never have enough time. It's something that, in Tony's case, he will seek to correct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A symbol of cages

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to qualapec and her Incredible Beta Skills. Without her, this probably would have been a oneshot. With her, the end is in sight, but it's way out there on the horizon, and I've got a paddle boat. I'm looking forward to the trip.
> 
> England from APH will periodically show up in this fic, but the main focus will stay in the Avengers verse.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

When England entered his study, something was immediately disquieting. At first glance, it was difficult to place what: it was the same room he had left that morning, a desk and several chairs, a border of over-full bookcases, a sentimentally outdated throw rug, and a scattering of papers and pens from a last minute draft. England paused just inside the threshold and took careful stock of the evening-dimmed space. 

His eyes fell on an uncommon book tucked between two common ones, off-center, as if ready to topple the stack. The last time he had opened that book had been to raise a once-nation from an arguably earned death. It was a book that belonged buried in the depths, and the uncomfortable fact was, it had been. To the best of his knowledge, the book was weighed down in an enspelled chest at the bottom of an ocean cavern that the Atlantic only gave him out of love, a singular denial of water’s sway over magic, and its best protection.

England sighed, removed his jacket, and threw it over one of the chairs.

Loki caught it and set it on the other.

“I’d appreciate you returning my books more if I’d known you’d borrowed them,” England noted as he took his seat behind the desk.

“And I’d appreciate borrowing your books if they were worth that effort.” Loki folded his hands in front of him and smiled neatly. “We must bear our disappointment.”

“If you told me what you were looking for, then perhaps I could be of help.” It cost England something to say, but whatever shape his words took with others, they took an honest one with himself. He found Loki to be relatable, and that was a rarity. Loki was not the only creature to wage regrettable wars, and England knew lost things well enough to know when one could still turn its head.

Loki laughed, short, indulgent, and it would have made Earth’s own winter prince sound balanced. The green of his eyes mirrored England’s own. “You are not so old as to teach me, scion of Midgard.”

“Perhaps not,” England affirmed. He reached for a pen instead of a curse. “But I could hold my ground as a peer.”

“All you are is ground.” The timbre of Loki’s expression let savagery slither through at the suggestion of equality, only to be tucked away again. “A fragile world’s silhouette, born of soil and a bit of blood.”

England answered with his own smile. Centuries-old, dead sailors shifted uncomfortably in their graves. “And of what, precisely, are you born, Liesmith?”

A terrible moment passed in which England believed he had overstepped. He could remember, quite clearly, how very talented Loki was with a knife, how it was to be pinned against an ash tree and watch Loki’s hand disappear into his abdomen only for the point of the knife to reappear, tenting the skin below his sternum before piercing it, slow, measured, and all the while, Loki smiling as England coughed blood against the pale column of the god’s throat--- all for talk of brothers.

Loki watched him, canted his head. “That fear you believe you’ve hidden is well deserved.” There was a respite of stillness.

Then England took a breath.

Loki displaced distance.

England tensed at the hand at his jugular.

Loki wrenched the nation’s head upwards, smiled at the audible clack of teeth, and stared down into eyes that bespoke growth, ash, rebirth.

“For all that your magic affords you, I will heal from wounds that you never will.” _Physical and otherwise._ England stated it calmly, unfalteringly, meeting the stare and taking an equal measure. 

Loki’s hand clenched tight, and England’s voice cut off. “I did not come here to experiment with your body’s ability to overcome death.” He lifted his unoccupied hand with a knife spun into existence and brushed England’s hair from his face with the blade. “Although, I will confess an academic interest.”

England glanced pointedly to the returned book and then back to Loki’s eyes, a question. His mind catalogued the ways he could relieve himself of his current predicament and found a sufficient number to justify staying as he was. It was high time he knew what force Loki meant to harness.

“I am certain that in your years among them,” Loki began, with a dearth of emotion that suggested an emotion to hide, “You have met a human whom you wished to be less mortal.”

England’s smile was slow and knowing.

Loki snapped his neck for it.

\---

As England shuddered into his resurrection, he discovered himself lying on the couch in his downstairs living room. The first thing he noticed besides the criminal headache was that his shirt appeared to be sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Eyes clenched shut against the throb of residual pain, England slid a hand down his chest to loosen whatever had caused it.

Bewildered, his eyes snapped open to find his hand bloody. A brief survey revealed his shirt to be tattered and alternatively caked or wet with red-brown.

“Twenty-seven minutes, thirteen seconds,” Loki offered, the picture of pleasant cooperation, relaxed in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other.

England forced the tenseness from his body and kicked his legs to the side so that he was sitting, facing the god. He summoned a smirk and tapped the tips of his fingers beneath his collar bone. “I see you weren’t particularly gentle with my corpse.”

“Not particularly, no.” Loki shrugged helplessly, unblinking, a crooked sneer in place. “But you’ll find I’m in a better mood.”

A breath hissed through England’s teeth, and he was careful to send the internal demand for recompense with it. “A route for a human to find immortality. I seem to remember you confessing that as your goal before you broke my neck.” He rocked his head from side to side. “Thank you, I suppose. You seem to have rid me of an irritating crick.”

Loki gave a low nod. “No thanks are necessary.” When he lifted his head again, the pretense of good humor been sorted back into the deck, out of sight. “And yes. That is my goal.”

“This human…” England, in contrast, retained the superficiality of his smirk. “Do they want this as well, or do you imagine you’ll make the choice for them?” Before Loki could answer, he went on with, “Whatever your answer, I assure you that I’ve been in both positions.”

There was silence, not for the choice of words, because Loki needed no measurable time to do so. England presumed it was one of observation, one of wondering why he could not recall ever hearing of an immortal human in England’s company, and what that might mean in relation to England’s words. Loki spoke slowly, as if the words had a weight. “The human in question is… not aware of my search as such.”

England arched an eyebrow. “As such?”

“At all.” A smile, all teeth, no trace of casualness or familiarity.

“Ah.” He rubbed at his temple and that damned headache. “Do you intend to tell them?”

“Is that an issue?”

England sighed. “Not for the magic, no, but it may be one for your relationship if that’s a question you need to ask.” He raised a hand in a preemptive placating gesture. “Meaning no aspersions on said relationship or your intentions, kindly do not snap my neck again. If that crick returns, I’m not helping.”

“What would need to be done?” Loki pressed, and his expression took an edge of hunger that England could relate to--- he doubted learning of magic would ever garner less from either of them.

Here was where England felt a stab of something approaching fear, not of Loki, not of the prospect, but of the means. 

“England?” Loki pressed.

It was the tone applied to his name that led him to respond; that was desperation attempting and failing to disguise itself as a threat. “The fae,” England answered simply, quietly. “There are a number of magical artifacts and rites that could give you your desired result, but I’m sure you are aware of them. If you have sought me out, sought my expertise in particular, then I can only assume those avenues are closed to you. That leaves the fae.”

Loki did not contradict him.

“You read the book. You know the cost.” Flesh, blood, bone, and mind, and England may have healed from those past trials, but Loki couldn’t regrow lost limbs with the same ease. He knew the god had faced his own horrors, and he had no doubts as to his ability to withstand them, but it was something that bore reminding.

“I also know that the likelihood of them making a deal with one such as myself directly is very slim.”

England had no response for that except to stare, cold dread slipping down his throat to settle in his chest. “What are you suggesting?”

That carefully-restricted desperation leached some of the self-assurance from Loki’s features before he contained it once more. “I want you to broker the deal.”

His first impulse was to demand whether Loki knew what he was asking of him, but of course Loki did. He followed through with his second impulse instead: “Why would I? You’ve made it clear you consider us neither friends nor equals.”

“And you know me to be a liar.” Loki’s demeanor adopted a vulnerable shade designed to inspire empathy, the need to protect; England could appreciate the motive, but he wasn’t falling for it.

“And a manipulator,” he answered. “I’m sorry, is that supposed to be reassuring?”

The speed with which Loki could adopt and discard his masks was unsettling. The vulnerability was retracted, but now England had to wonder about the god’s investment in this endeavor, wonder if the vulnerability wasn’t the truth and the calm the lie. It was one of Loki’s many dangers. “What price must I pay to have your cooperation, England?” Loki sounded weary, and that much England could believe. “I am well aware this is not something I could hope to force you into, and even if it was, I wouldn’t wish to.”

A price from Loki… that was an interesting prospect, at least, provided he was sincere. England could endure a known risk to protect himself from an unknown one. “I will have to consider… It’s no small thing that you are asking me for.” He would need time decide, time to choose, and more time still to perfect the wording if he did elect to assist in this endeavor. If he could negotiate even a specter of protection for himself and other nations… “Is there a deadline?”

“He’s mortal.” Loki’s focus shifted to the window. “That is the deadline.”

\---  
\----  
\---

**10 months prior**

Tony hadn’t been able to watch Loki drown, and that’s what it all came down to. 

Some great gaudy idiot posing as a shark god in the Solomon Islands had teamed up with Doom, in counter to what turned out to be a sham of an alliance between Doom and Loki. Except Loki hadn’t known that dicey tidbit at the time, or that Doom had some sort of revenge planned for a past betrayal, and the end result was the Avengers minus Thor and Natasha caught in a battle between three villains who didn’t much care if the surrounding chain of islands got destroyed in their evilness equivalent of a pissing contest.

There was nothing quite like greeting the light of a brand new day with a cup of coffee and the news you were needed to fight two gods and magic dictator with a doctorate.

The shark god, whose name no one actually caught before Loki gutted him (Tony had been calling him Fin Man, but then Loki sliced off the fin early on, and it stopped having that certain ring), did have one trick up his sleeve.

Said trick shot out in purple light from his corpse, wrapped Loki and the dashingly-ready-to-attack Tony in a glowing sphere, and plummeted them from the village into the ocean, so quickly Tony barely had time to get a clipped “Fuck” over the comms.

They sank, and as both found with their initial outburst, they could not break through the walls, but the water could.

The suit was unharmed, the sphere stopped on the ocean floor, there was just fifteen feet of water above them, and Tony had enough air not to be too worried. The comfort it bought him after that panicked, disorienting moment of _wait where did the land go_ , was swiftly upstaged.

Loki was still trapped with him. He’d called air around himself in a bubble, and was casting his eyes around the walls, reading the rolling script inscribed over its surface. By and large, he didn’t look like a guy who was having a good day, and suddenly it made sense why Doom would stoop to allying with a character like Formally-Finned Man. A guy could be a pushover in every other area, but if they were an expert in one, tiny ---Loki made a visible effort with his magic, the walls just shone brighter, Loki paled, and Tony developed some theories--- _magic-draining_ area, that could be deal worthy.

“ _Iron Man!_ ” Steve’s voice rang out, grounded him some, nevermind the disturbing lack of ground. “ _What happened?_ ”

“Well, Cap,” Tony answered with a cheer he could convince himself he felt through the virtue of practice. “I seem to be trapped in a sinking purple death globe with Loki.”

Clint groaned over the comm. “ _I swear to god, we should just transcribe our battle conversations and make t-shirts._ ”

“ _We have to fight our way over to you,_ ” Steve said with a grunt of exertion that meant a landed hit. “ _Hang on._ ”

“I have no other pressing plans,” Tony answered.

When he looked back to Loki, it was to see that his air bubble was shrinking in little bursts, echoed by pulses in the glow of the inscriptions on the walls. Definitely magic-eating then.

It didn’t take a genius to perceive that the air wasn’t going to last long enough for help to come, and Tony fit the genius bill and several stacks of its extraneous paperwork. He could perceive more than that: he could measure Loki’s remaining time to just over three minutes, and he could tell Loki knew it.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Thor’s little brother, Tony’s brain reminded him. Thor, who was one of the best friends he’d had in his vast and varied life of mostly friendlessness, who showed nothing but nearly painful amounts of devotion to his comrades, and must exceed even that for his brother, because whatever Loki had done in his time on Earth, Thor’s love for him hadn’t wavered. Forget the powerful alien-royalty and its reaction to Loki’s death, Tony didn’t jive well with authority figures: his _friend_ was going to go through living hell if Loki died here. 

But Loki was a mass murderer, and those deaths weren’t faceless for Tony. Loki had killed people, and some of them were friends of his just as much as his brother was. There was no getting around that.

Except, Loki just looked like a guy right now, a guy struggling not to die, a guy who was also his friend’s little brother.

It was happening too damn fast. 

Two minutes, the air was disappearing, and Loki was going to die right in front of him.

Before Tony could react to that realization, Loki did something Tony was not expecting: he shrunk the air bubble to cover just his face, letting some escape to the surface in a stream, whipped out a knife, and slit his palm. Both palms, and two lines on his forearms. Blood fed into the day-lit water in red wisps, swept up with the flow of Loki’s clothes in the current.

“What the hell!” Tony shouted, jerking closer in the water.

He hadn’t really expected Loki to be able to understand what he was saying through the water, but apparently that wasn’t an issue, and those cornered, predatory eyes locked onto him. Loki said nothing, just sneered; it looked on the ill side of mad. He lost a little more air.

Tony spread his hands wide, though he was sure some of the angry desperation behind the gesture was lost in the suit. “Tell me what you’re trying to do! I’m not going to attack a drowning guy!”

He considered him carefully, and Tony felt absurdly naked, regardless of the armor. “The beasts in the water…” Loki’s voice sounded as clear inside his helmet as JARVIS or the comms would. It was as breathless as could be predicted, not afraid, but furious and something namelessly more. “His familiars… smear their blood on the walls… Living creatures can come inside. They just… can’t leave.” The air shrunk to cover the front of his face, like a layer of saran-wrap.

Tony absorbed that just in time to really register the swarm of shadows outside the sphere. Oh fuck. There was a good chance he was about to get stuck in a shark-tank Hotel California: all check ins, no check outs. Smear blood on the walls? He didn’t want to do it, sharks were cool, but---

One of the sleek, strong shapes darted forward to investigate Loki’s bleeding form at the same time as his air bubble disappeared.

“ _Shit!_ ” Tony swore, and jolted forward, darting in front of Loki, and cutting his hand towards the shark. 

The force of his fist connecting with its body struck it backward to slam against the wall of the sphere. Three of Loki’s daggers followed suit, the throw fast and accurate despite the water, and then there was blood on the wall, and the sphere was flickering. Cracks began to form from the point of impact, spreading, stretching, up, across, thin but widening with every bit of shark’s blood the wall drank in. The sharks outside the circle that hadn’t known what to make of Tony and Loki, got with the program when they sensed the distressed fish.

Cue enthusiastic lunch and much more blood churning in the water… and an airless Loki injured in the middle of it.

Tony didn’t think. He wrapped his arms around Loki’s feebly struggling form, and slammed upwards, against the sphere, creating larger fractures with the first hit and an Iron Man sized hole with the second one.

Eight minutes later, Loki had transported away, Clint was giving him shit about giving a villain CPR (a _lie_ , and not going on a t-shirt), and Steve wanted to know how Loki had escaped, not in an accusatory way, rather in a curious one. 

Tony thought through the flashes of memory from those moments: breaking the water’s surface, getting Loki to shore, his hands gripping Loki’s shoulders as he coughed up water, sudden deadly god-inspired force being focused in his direction, and then… abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Literally. Loki turned on him, and the good sense to be worried about his personal safety finally cuffed Tony upside the head at the look in Loki’s eyes, but instead of an attack, Loki vanished out of his hands.

“He just left,” Tony answered Steve, and then he jumped into the foray to help the rest of the team.

Thor was getting back that evening, and he’d just have to tell the story again anyway. He might as well wait.

\---

If Tony could have split into two Tonys and slapped himself, he might have.

Clint had collapsed onto the couch next to him a few minutes ago, slouched in that casual, affected way he eased into when he wasn’t on duty and reminding people how fucking deadly he was. He shot Tony a smile and made a (probably sarcastic) comment about whatever was running on the tv ---Tony wasn’t really paying attention, he was busy designing an appropriately resilient robot puppy for Bruce and Hulk--- and then it really hit him.

He and Clint had been trading lighthearted barbs about his time in a mini-fishbowl with Loki the whole trip back to the manor. What had taken him so long to see that Clint was bluffing him? Tony had been thrown out a window after mouthing off, but Clint had gotten his head fucked with, had been _used_. Loki had killed people through him. There was no way he was genuinely so cavalier about something concerning Loki. He was the kind of person that took whatever they were going through and slathered it in one-liners and attitude until it was unrecognizable. It was trait they shared.

Tony had pulled Loki up from the water because he was Thor’s little brother, and Thor was his friend. But, _shit_ , Clint was his friend too.

He thumbed through the pages of designs for Unnamed Hulk Dog and brought up a new set. “So, let’s talk new arrows.”

Clint arched an eyebrow at him but settled in for a conversation, kicking his feet up on the table and folding his hands on his stomach.

Eventually, a day would come when Tony wouldn’t be able to trample through his feelings by making or buying people things. Today was not that day.

It was, however, the day in which Thor provided him with an answer that gave him something to really think about.

Sometime during his and Clint’s brief foray into discussing a multi-setting, multi-target taser arrow, Thor padded into the living room, dressed down in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and sat in the armchair cattycornered to Tony. He listened intently, occasionally posing questions as to the nature of this explosive or that explosive. Thor looked calm, peaceful, and that was a tipoff. On the top hundred adjectives used to describe Thor, peaceful didn’t even rank.

About half an hour later, JARVIS informed them that the pizza had arrived, and Clint was up and moving like the kitchen was a fixed position he needed to take and hold.

Tony got to his feet to follow and hesitated. He reached out, touched the arm of Thor’s chair lightly. “Uh, listen…” But he got cut off.

“I thank you for what transpired today.” Thor tilted his face up to him and smiled a wide smile edged with a bit of pain that wormed its way into Tony’s heart and did its damndest to break it. 

“Couldn’t just watch him drown,” Tony mumbled. He took his hand back and scrubbed it over his face. “Call it a personal quirk.”

Thor’s expression didn’t change except to dim the wattage to an ordinary level. “All the same.”

“Well… You’re welcome.” Tony shifted his weight, on the cusp of a step. He could have let it end there, could have walked to the kitchen and gotten a slice of Hawaiian before Steve decimated the box, could have left his next train of thought to another day. He didn’t though. Tony shifted his weight again, and when he could have gone forward, he let it land on the heels of his feet and took a step backwards instead. “Hey, I’ve… got a question.”

“Yes?” Thor asked, open, earnest.

“Whenever we get in a fight with Loki, you bring up the childhood the two of you had, your lives before the truth came out, I guess, and I was just wondering…” Tony cast around for a phrasing that wouldn’t get him hammered in the non-recreational sense of the word. “How many memories like these is it going to take to outshine those?”

Thor looked at him in confusion. “I do not love the memories, Tony Stark. I love him.”

A pause while he chewed on that. “And that’s a hard thing to outshine,” Tony continued for him, nodding, eyes on the far wall. When he glanced back to Thor, the guy looked like he was waiting on another response, a reaction attached to a judgment. Tony smiled, shrugged a little. “Okay.” Then, “Pizza?”

The grin was back as he stood. “Yes!” He clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony wondered if when he let go, it would hang a little lower than the other, because damn. “And may there be pepperoni for all!”

Tony laughed, welcomed the arm that settled around his shoulders, and not just because it might even them out. “Steve got there first, don’t count on it.”

Laughing over slices of what was mostly grease probably wasn’t a common scene for an epiphany, but Tony had one anyway. Bruce, who had emerged from the labs blinking like a nocturnal creature exposed to daylight in a fashion Tony could relate to, sat on a stool next to him and pawed for a thoroughly-pilfered pizza box. He gave Tony a tired smile, they toasted with the soda cans Steve set in front of them, Bruce turned to say something to Thor, and in that atmosphere of easy friendship, it just hit him like the thing with Clint had earlier.

Thor didn’t love the ghost of a changed man, and he wasn’t kidding himself by chasing after something that was lost. He loved Loki, the whole package and whatever that entailed. It was about people, all of this, a mess of one-on-one relationships amassed together in a bloody tumble. And Tony… Tony had a problem with cutting someone else’s ties for them. He’d defend himself in the moment, he’d attack, protect, fight, but he had a problem going for a kill when there was another opening left to him--- never a no-win scenario if he had a say in it. 

He knew some of the team would make arguments towards protecting future lives, and yeah, he could see that, and he could think of quite a few times when he’d act in that mindset… But until Loki was in the core of some new scheme where there was a clear cut choice to kill him or watch others die, until that possible future got whittled down to become the present, Loki was in the middle ground, dangerous, an undeniable threat, but far too close to home.

\---

Four days later, Natasha got back from her unspecified mission doing unspeakable things at an unnamed place. New York City welcomed her home with some asshat who made a blob monster. Tony disliked him on principle. Not only was it six stories tall and made of slime, but it moved too slow to be an actual threat and just coated everything in a thick blue mucus. In short: it was fucking pointless, and whatever it was designed to do, it obviously wasn’t doing it, if its apparent creator (who was riding on the tiny slab of a carapace where its head might, maybe, possibly, probably be) and his angry hand motions and shrieking were anything to go by.

The issue was that everything they tossed at the damned thing just zinged through or got stuck in it. Hulk ran through one side and came out the other turquoise. Judging from the roar, he preferred his natural green. Thor shot it full of lightning, and fuck all happened. For a second, Tony thought the thing’s maker had gotten roasted, but he’d just fallen backwards into its goo and crawled back out again. Tony had a lot of questions for this guy, and warring for priority were _why the hell_ and _how the hell_.

In a beautiful demonstration of why they were friends, Steve brained the nuisance with his shield as he tried to pull himself on top of the carapace saddle.

Tony swooped in to catch the guy before he fell, and then almost couldn’t keep his grip through the layer of slime. He did though, because he did his hero-ing heroically, even when his initial impulse was to let go and take a lot of baths. “You’re a lucky guy,” he informed the man in his arms. “Well. Unlucky if you were trying to, you know, accomplish something. But still pretty lucky because mostly we’re annoyed instead of angry---”

The slime monster exploded; Tony and his cargo got splattered, along with everything else in the visible vicinity.

“---but whoever did that might be,” Tony finished in a rush, highly grateful he was inside the armor; oh god, his armor. “Was that you?” he directed to his villain tote. The guy shook his head so violently, his comb-over flopped sides. “Okay then.”

“ _Loki on the roof to your left, Captain,_ ” Natasha’s voice announced over the comms. Tony bet _she_ hadn’t gotten blobbed.

Steve turned to face the building in question. “ _Tony! Drop that guy with the police and get back over here!_ ”

“On it!” Tony replied, holding nameless baddie tighter and zooming in the direction of the flashing (filtered through slime) lights.

He was gone maybe two minutes.

Apparently a hundred and twenty seconds was all the time it took for Loki to decide a slime-covered street in Manhattan wasn’t his scene.

Tony landed next to Natasha and Thor on the street. “What happened…?”

“Barton fired a shot, but it was one of Loki’s doubles.” Natasha tipped her head a fraction to the right, and Tony followed the motion to see Steve and Clint having a conversation behind a nearby bus. “Loki was waiting for it. He went for him when his position was revealed.”

There was an edgy quality to the way Thor was standing. Slime slid off him in thick globs. “My brother and Clint traded words, and then Loki departed. There was no battle save for Loki’s destruction of this strange beast.”

“Whoa, traded words?” Tony retracted the helmet. That couldn’t be good. “What kind of words?”

“I see your eyes are as clear as ever,” Natasha repeated. Her tone was devoid of emotion, but Tony would put money on pissed. “Whether or not I’m in them.”

Tony winced. “And Clint said?”

“Clint said: and yours make the same pretty targets,” Clint offered up as he strode over to them, Steve at his side. “And then Loki poofed. The end. Can we go home? It’s time for lunch.”

“Hulk wants hostess cakes.” The declarative statement came from approximately three feet behind Tony, and did not, by any stretch of the imagination, make him jump, yelp, or bite his tongue.

“I would also partake of the tiny wrapped desserts.” Thor nodded and slung the hammer back into place. His voice _sounded_ fairly cheery, but he still wasn’t as good at the masking-of-emotion thing as Natasha. “But who will clean this… ichor from the streets?”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “We aren’t exactly equipped for it.”

“And we didn’t even blow anything up,” Tony pointed out over a sore tongue. “I agree with Clint. Lunch! Hulk and Thor need their little cakes.”

“Cakes,” Hulk agreed with extra emphasis and the accidental breaking of a streetlamp in his enthusiasm.

Tony watched it fall and then motioned towards it with a flourish. “Lady and gentleman, the only thing we broke today.”

Steve let out a heavy sigh, and then articulated the glorious phrase, “All right, team, let’s head home.”

On the way, there was a heap of speculation as to why Loki had shown up just to explode the blob and then vanish. Tony one-third listened and contributed, and two-thirds surveyed Thor and Clint. If Clint was unnerved, he wasn’t showing it. On the opposite end of the spectrum, if Thor was ever going to _not_ be gutted by a close encounter with his brother, it sure as hell didn’t look to be any time soon.

Tony groaned, internally, because externally he was laughing at Clint’s disguising joke and beaming at Thor like he believed he was okay. The truth of it was that this was the single area of life that Tony had no arguable degree of genius in. He could read people, given the incentive and proper attention span, and he could do a damn fine job at it. It was doing something with the information that he struggled with. He liked these people. He liked these people a lot. They’d built a nice, crazy, accidentally destructive, goddamn brave pseudo-family, and Tony was going to do his level best to be a good friend.

He was just a little fuzzy on the _how_. 

He wanted to communicate to Thor that he trusted his judgment about Loki and that he supported him.

He wanted to communicate to Clint that he thought what happened to him was fucking horrible and that he’d like to help.

But those words didn’t feel like the best fit, and Tony didn’t know how to dress them up right, so he ordered everyone Thai food and put on a movie instead.

\---

“Stark.”

He glanced up from cleaning slime out of the suit’s joints as Clint walked in. It took a few seconds for him to adjust to the novelty of the situation. Clint didn’t usually come looking for him in his lab. “What’s up? I thought you were on a quest for a meatball sub.”

Clint didn’t answer right away, just stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, tense, scrutinizing him, apparently fresh from a shower. 

Tony shifted uncomfortably. All of a sudden he felt similar to when he was nine and a teacher walked in right after he’d halfway blown up his school’s science lab.

“When we got home, I went straight to wash off that slime. First time in a long while I’ve done anything before seeing to my weapons. Shouldn’t have broken habit… I didn’t notice it at first.” Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, black drawstring bag. He threw it underhand to Tony, who caught it in a fist, bemused. “There was a thread tied around one of my arrows. When I tried to pull it off, it turned into that. It’s already been looked over by Thor and Banner. They don’t seem to think it’s dangerous, but they can’t get it open either.”

Still blinking in confusion, Tony turned his attention to the miniature leather pouch in his hand. With a jolt he got part of why Clint’s tone was coming across a tad anxious. There was a tag reading _For Stark_ written in what he had a sneaking suspicion was a certain trickster’s handwriting.

“Thor said you’d be the only who could untie the knot.” The words were spoken as factual and little else.

“Why’d you go to Bruce before me?” Tony asked quietly.

Clint shrugged, but he wasn’t fooling Tony with that faux coldness. He was worried. “Wanted to be sure it was safe before you indulged in your special brand of reckless and stupid.”

“And might I ask why you didn’t turn this thing in to be prodded at in some SHIELD lab somewhere? To be added to the evidence about Loki?” Tony turned the bag over in his palm. It was strange. He could tell there was something in it, but it was impossible to tell what, like the material had a constantly changing nature to conceal its contents. Magic, had to be.

“Technically, I did turn it in to a lab, and knowing you, it _is_ going to be prodded. The biggest authority on Loki is his brother, and Thor’s already in this building.” Clint shrugged again, the action just as artificial as before. “The bastard used me as a messenger. I want to know what for. Not after weeks of tests before it gets classified. _Now_.” On the last word, he made eye-contact with Tony, and there was a sensation of a bulls-eye painted smack dab in the middle of his forehead. It wasn’t threatening, but it sure as hell was intense.

“Well, then. Let’s see what’s in the bag.” Because how else could he respond to that, really? He’d been presented with a mysterious gift from an alien god and given the go ahead to open it, with the added point of providing answers for a teammate. He could assuage his curiosity _and_ be a good person.

The strings were warm to the touch when Tony began to undo the knot, like they’d been left out in the sun while the rest of the pouch was in the shade. It came open as effortlessly as any other double knot Tony had ever seen. Clint crossed the room to stand at his shoulder, and Tony gave him a nervous smirk. He eased the mouth of the bag wider, careful, a tad apprehensive, abruptly wondering if they should be wearing some protective equipment, but stuck in that heady anticipation that made those thoughts an annoying, ignored buzz.

A ring fell out of the bag.

Tony stared.

Clint stared.

Tony opened his mouth.

Clint beat him to it with a mild, “Congratulations?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tony scowled, but there was no heat to it. “Probably shouldn’t touch it. Maybe get Bruce down here, and the two of us can run some more tests, see if it means anything to Thor, just to be…” His voice trailed off as he got a better look at the purple gem in the middle. “Oh _hell_.”

“What is it?”

Tony bent low, surveyed the stone in more detail. It wasn’t really purple. It was like the outside of a clear stone had been swathed in a violet tint, and there were bitty symbols turning circles across its surface. Locked in the middle, nearly obscured beneath the busywork on top, was a miniature, ghost-like fish, flickering in an unearthly light, blue, then white, then gold.

Clint made the universal, wordless sound for _what the fuck_. “Is that a shrunken fish? Because I’ve got to say… Loki might want to have a talk with his jeweler.”

“I don’t think it’s real,” Tony said offhand. The point was clear either way. “Damn, he figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

Tony straightened, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and sighed before pulling up a chair and sinking into it. “The spell-cage-thing we got stuck in on that island. He’s telling me he knows how it works, so I shouldn’t waste my time finding a way to use it against him.” He almost reached for the cup of coffee on the table next to him, but dejectedly stopped short when he remembered how long it had been sitting there.

Clint leaned a hip against the table, still watching the ring. “So what are you going to do with it?”

The temptation to ask why Clint was throwing protocol to the wind on this one came and went. “Try to figure it out anyway. No one tells me what to do.” Tony shot him a smirk. “Clearly, he has underestimated both my stubbornness and my need to throw things in people’s faces.”

“Good man,” Clint replied, a hand molding to Tony’s shoulder before he pushed off from the table and started for the door.

“Hey,” Tony called after him, full of a now or never mindset, along with some unfortunate incoherency. He just knew he should say _something_ even if he’d missed whatever line the majority of humanity had gotten in to pick up their friendship scripts. At least he had the comfort of knowing Clint hadn’t gotten in that line either. “You know, if you… need. You know.”

“Don’t,” Clint shut him down without turning around, but he did linger for half a step on the threshold. “But yeah. I know.” He kept walking.

Tony watched him leave and then swiveled in his chair. He was kind of relieved Clint hadn’t stopped right then. That sterling example of human speech was pretty much all he had to say. He wanted to help, but when it came to putting that into conversation, he was still tapped. “Okay, JARVIS,” he redirected. “Tell me about my creepy fish ring. This friendship stuff is stressful. I need a good brain teaser.”

“Scanning, sir.”

\---

It was a warm Tuesday afternoon a week after the slime monster fiasco. Pepper had time for a rare lunch away from the office, they’d gone to a low key café, and Tony was in the middle of catching her up on bits about the Solomon Isles and the ring that he hadn’t been able to convey over the phone. Namely, the bits where he had _feelings_. Pepper was good at cutting through his bullshit and getting to the sinewy meaty emotion at the center, all without sending him on that awkward shifty spiral that happened when someone else tried it. It was shaping up to be a perfect afternoon.

Then came the sirens, followed by the shouting.

He should just never drive a Maserati. Something bad always happened on the days he drove a Maserati. There was a Maserati curse.

“Pepper…” he started, fully prepared to draw her attention to this fact.

“There isn’t a Maserati curse,” Pepper denied with preemptive, dry precision as she sipped at her mocha. The café’s clientele were beginning to head for the emergency exits, and she was standing calmly in the line preventing a bottleneck. “There may be a _Tony Stark_ curse, but it has nothing to do with a Maserati.”

Tony ruminated on that while reflecting on the evolving scene outside. “Hmm, okay, sure, but _consider this:_ is the city ever attacked by fire-breathing lizard people on the days I pick a Jag?”

Through the window over her head, a fireball blasted down the street, followed by a nine-foot russet nightmare. Pepper sighed. “No. No, it isn’t.”

“Say it with me.” Tony lifted his hands to gesture as he enunciated, “ _Maserati curse._ ”

Pepper picked up his briefcase and pressed into his chest with a crooked smile. “Go save the day.”

Tony’s hands closed over hers and then the briefcase as she slipped them back. He grinned. “Rain check?”

“Rain check,” she agreed, elegant brightness and safety and smiles. God, he loved her. Pepper jerked her head towards the street and stole the rest of his cookie before retrieving her cell phone to start making calls. “Now get out there.”

He pressed a kiss to one fine cheekbone, said “Stay safe”, and went to work---

And promptly got hit by a fireball about fifteen seconds after he’d gotten the armor on. He was forcefully blasted at an upwards diagonal, blindsided and ill-prepared.

“ _Sir, the roof._ ”

Tony threw out a repulsor and corrected the angle to narrowly miss crashing. “JARVIS, what are they?” he asked when he’d straightened out.

“ _There is no available data. SHIELD is preparing a dossier, but it is neither complete nor accessible._ ”

“The rest of the team?”

“ _Thor and Hulk are already engaged. Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye are en route._ ”

Below him in the streets, the bipedal Komodo dragon look-alikes were flooding the streets. Crap, it hadn’t looked like that many from inside the building. Tony surveyed them, gathering whatever information he could. They were moving as a mass, but they didn’t seem to be organized in a military capacity. It looked closer to a pack mentality. They weren’t wearing any sort of clothing, and they weren’t carrying weapons. Tony was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t an attack so much as a misplaced herd.

Natasha’s voice came over the comm. “ _These creatures didn’t orchestrate this. They’re confused. I believe they’re aggressive out of fear and stress._ ”

“ _Yes, they breathe fire when alarmed,_ ” Thor confirmed. A pause. “ _I seem to keep alarming them. Though, not so much as our friend Hulk._ ”

Steve made a thoughtful noise. “ _Okay, defend yourselves, but let’s try for a catch and release first. It doesn’t look like they’re here on purpose._ ”

Tony wondered where, exactly, they could release them to, but that was someone else’s puzzle.

“ _Thor, we’re going to herd them towards you,_ ” Steve directed. “ _Try to keep them corralled. Hawkeye, when you reach him, stay and help from the rooftops._ ”

“ _Can do, Cap._ ”

“Okay, team, everyone think like Lassie!” Having achieved some input, Tony dove towards the lizard people and left someone else to explain that reference to Thor.

The unwitting invaders swiveled their heads towards him as he veered past, orange eyes managing to convey without definable expression that they weren’t fans of the friendly neighborhood Iron Man. Tony used a repulsor to deflect an answering fireball to the sky. Satisfied that they were paying attention, he turned and headed back to the stragglers farthest from the front to see if he could convince them to speed it up. It didn’t go quite as well as he was hoping. If he was channeling Lassie, they were channeling Smaug, and the armor didn’t have an invisibility setting.

He fired a few warning shots that went off harmlessly in midair. A smattering of the horde reared backward on a hooked claw and did a bird-like headtilt as though they weren’t quite sure what to make of him. Then they came to the logical conclusion that running was for non-fire-breathers, and Tony was put on the immediate defensive. 

He was doing everything he could to keep the buildings from being blasted, but while he could engineer the line of fire, they weren’t always cooperative with their aim. Two of the apartment complexes on either side of him were hit and went up in flames.

“JARVIS tag those buildings for the Fire Department!” Tony called out as he spiked another blast away from the street. People were starting to rush in the opposite direction, and they were doing a good job of taking side streets, but the sudden uproar of noise was just adding to the creatures’ fireball-inducing stress. Traffic had elected to stop happening in the vicinity as well, and Tony was thankful for that; he didn’t want to imagine what the reaction to the sounds of horns and breaks would have been.

“ _Done, sir._ ”

The horde had their collective sights on him now, and they seemed to be rather single-minded about taking him out of the sky. Fire was collecting over their skin, forming a visible current in their mouths like roiling fog.

“Guys, the herding thing isn’t going so hot,” Tony called over the comms. Clint groaned, and the joke was on him really, because he hadn’t even meant that pun. “I think I’m going to try being bait instead.”

“ _Be careful,_ ” was Steve’s reply, and that was his green light.

He cracked a wide grin and went low, patting one lizard man tauntingly on the head as he dashed over. It snapped its jaws forward and caught nothing but air.

“Come on, kiddies,” Tony shouted to them. “Catch the gorgeous man in the gorgeous armor!”

That worked like a charm. They let out a cry that came out in scary staccato and gave chase in a passing imitation of a raptor scene from Jurassic Park. Tony slowed so he was enticing with the illusion of obtainable. Funny how some parts of his life carried over into other areas.

As he panned past another street, several little things went wrong and added together to make one big thing: a second pack that was spread out over the intersection joined the first, an empty bus in front of him got hit by a fireball and exploded, and both packs fired at him at the same time.

He did the only thing he really could do. He pulled up, couldn’t cut it quick enough, caught the top of the bus’s flare-up, and was struck in the side by a blast that had been shot a little higher than the others.

Tony slammed into the side of a building.

Sharp pain forced a shout from him, mute, breathless, and buried in a cascade of brick and glass. He’d struck the wall with that space between the scapulae, landed on the round ball of a shoulder. Tony skidded, tearing through floor and furniture until his leg caught on a door frame and spun him around to strike flat against a wall.

It wasn’t the worse hit he’d ever taken, but it didn’t need to be. There had been piping in those walls, and he was looking at the mess metal and brick had made of one of his repulsors.

“Shit,” he swore as he pushed himself up onto his knees and one hand. Broken shards crinkled in his other fist as he rolled his fingers experimentally.

“Kneeling becomes you, Tony Stark.”

Fucking Maserati.

“Loki!” Tony drew out with as much false cheer as he could muster through the shock of impact. It came out as a croak. His chest still felt concave, emptied. He couldn’t get air fast enough. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” a deep, rattling breath, “---but this isn’t the greatest time.”

“Better than some of our past encounters, surely.” Loki hadn’t quite made it into his vision yet, but once that stopped swimming, Tony was pretty sure the bastard would be smirking. “For example, on this occasion you’ve been thrown _in_ a window rather than out of one.”

A sliver of fear went toe-to-toe with his innate need to mouth off and got its face bashed in. Tony grinned around it, nevermind that it couldn’t be seen through the helmet. It made him feel better in any case. “Yeah, well, you know. I like to keep my routine flexible.” Score, his voice sounded less raspy that go around. 

There was no doubt another smart comment on its way after that, but they were interrupted by the appearance of a handful of reptilian heads peaking into the hole Tony had made in the wall. They weren’t gearing up to fire, but it looked like they were thinking about it.

Tony straightened into a crouch, and finally made out Loki’s outline on the threshold of what was probably a kitchen. “Not that I don’t enjoy our talks, but if we’re about to get into a fight, I’d really like to know because I may be double-booked.”

The shift of Loki’s attention from him to the creatures considering advancing into the room was a tangible thing, like iron fillings dragging in the wake of a magnet. “We share our current engagement.”

“Wait…” Tony deadpanned. The effect was extra deadpan when filtered through the helmet. “You’re here about the lizard people?”

“They are the result of a young, amateur sorceress attempting to summon an army.” Now that Tony could see his face, he could tell Loki was pretty pissed. That sent off all sorts of internal warning alarms telling him to get the fuck out of dodge. “I was going to kill her after what these animals did to my apartment, but they were quicker about it. They ate her. Idiot.”

Tony’s internal monologue of _fuck trapped between Loki and fireballs fuck_ came to a screeching halt with a blip of _shit they eat people_. “You… have an apartment in Manhattan?”

“I have several apartments in Manhattan.” There was mild annoyance in the tone, as if Loki couldn’t understand why _that_ was the part he was fixating on when clearly the important bit was that he’d been wronged.

What the _hell_ , Tony had some people to talk to. “How has SHIELD not found you?” he asked, and there was no vaguely hysterical bewilderment to be heard. Voice filters were awesome.

“They aren’t particularly adept at looking.” The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched. “I imagine you’d be surprised by how many villains have invested in this city’s real estate.”

“Whoa, wait a second…” A fireball coasted past his head, went through a doorway, and into the building beyond. There was a _ping_ of JARVIS contacting emergency forces. Tony raised his good hand and fired a repulsor at the ragged gap and the onlookers, but it didn’t stop him from continuing down his current train of thought as they dipped out of sight. “You’re pissed because an attack on the city destroyed your apartment?”

Loki lifted a shoulder in the most lazy, noncommittal shrug Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. “Yes.”

He couldn’t help it; he took his eyes off the scattered reptile brigade to turn his head and stare. “Huh. At least you’re an attractive hypocrite.”

That got an outright laugh; it sent chills crawling like spider legs down Tony’s spine. “The best sort. Don’t you agree?”

Shakily, Tony got to his feet. His legs were not proponents of that plan, but he convinced them to reevaluate. “They are a weakness of mine.” He lifted the functioning repulsor and took a staggering step towards the hole and the street beyond, ready to fire the next time a head came into view.

“One of your many weaknesses, Stark.” 

“ _Sir, he’s---_ ”

“I know,” Tony answered JARVIS, his entire body tensing in an instant. There was a dull roar in his ears as he registered Loki’s abrupt relocation to the space directly behind him. Putting an end to the instinctual surge of fear was impossible, fire and pitch. It hammered inside his pulse, made his vision fade before he got it back. He stood stock still. If he attacked, Loki would attack, and Tony had no illusions as to what the result of that would be. 

“How did you like your ring?” Goddamn evil voices and their apparently default silkiness. Loki was close enough that Tony was pretty sure if the god took one deep breath, he’d make contact with the suit.

Tony cut his eyes to the side even though he couldn’t see him. “Would have been more meaningful over a nice dinner instead of stashed on my friend.” Shit, shit, okay. He could kick around, get the repulsor between them, make for the open air…

“ _Sir, I am informing Captain America of the current situation, as well as of the creatures’ possible proclivity for human flesh._ ” Rather than put it to voice, JARVIS scrolled the statement in silent text across his visor, and Tony gave a minute nod in response.

Before Tony could enact any of his admittedly less-than-stellar plans to fight or snark his way out of his current predicament, Loki swept around him towards the battered wall, all billowy cape and willowy grace. “As I said before, we share our current engagement, so kindly put away your pathetic notions of attacking me. For now, my concern is removing these relics from the streets.”

Tony swallowed hard, carefully didn’t take offense at any of that, and then got out, “We’re going for a catch-and-release type thing… We’re trying to get them focused in one central location to see if we can---”

“A fool’s errand,” Loki dismissed. “They are constructs of a long dead sorcerer and are a violent, overpopulated blight in the realm they call home.” A knife found itself lodged in a scaled head that had hesitantly taken a look into the room. “Furthermore, if you restrict them to such an area with nowhere for them to direct their focus but on each other, they will begin to cannibalize their wounded, resulting in a feeding frenzy you will be hard-pressed to control.”

A memory of sharks, of chumming the ocean, doused him like a flash of ice water. “JARVIS,” Tony said numbly. “Relay that bit to Steve, and let him know Loki’s attacking the targets, not us or the city.”

“ _At once._ ”

Almost immediately, Steve came over the comm. “ _All right, everyone. The catch and release isn’t going to work. Kill shots, and be prepared for possible attacks on civilians. Be advised that Loki is in the area but appears to be solely engaging the creatures. Avoid confrontation if at all possible until this mission is complete._ ”

Tony wanted to tell him good luck with that last part but didn’t.

“I have elected to go on a full offensive,” Loki informed him, striding forward to stand on the edge of where room met empty air. He turned to glance back at Tony, smiled darkly as he knocked several of the creatures down to strike cement below. “You’re welcome to join me, Stark.”

Tony watched him disappear as he jumped from the perch of broken bricks. He sighed heavily. “Oh, I’m about to do something that isn’t very genius-y.”


	2. Prophesized Paths

There’d been no question in his mind as to whether Stark would follow him. The human was so easily tempted by curiosity, a commendable trait but oftentimes a foolish one to indulge. Humans were not so durable that they could intelligently chase after every dangerous flight of fancy without fear of consequence. Answering Loki’s invitation to join the battle at one another’s side undeniably called into question the initial impression of intellect. Even so, Loki suspected there was not so simple an explanation. Tony Stark was a man of invention, but he was also a strange case of that condition named heroism.

Loki stooped low to the ground and conjured a wave of force to send one cherufe careening at an angle into a column of fire before striking its fellows and setting them all aflame. Stark shouted out a compliment at the marksmanship, charm and laughter.

A strange case indeed.

An interesting one as well. Loki had imagined it was some favor to Thor that lent him Stark’s help in the altercation with Victor and the charlatan. His manner suggested it may well be more. Stark could not have forgotten Loki’s nature, but he was speaking to him with the same familiarity that he showed the members of his team. The tinge of misplaced bravado that he had shown several minutes before had shifted into sincerity as soon they landed in the street. Perhaps he was simply incapable of fighting alongside someone without exhibiting a form of camaraderie. Loki wished that he wouldn’t. It was going to make for an awkward conversation if Loki decided to kill him at the end of it.

Loki slit the throat of a cherufe but nearly botched the cleanness of it at a shocking clamor from above. He turned his eyes to the sky. The din of thunder that had periodically broken through the chaotic sounds of a city under attack was getting closer. Oh, how that sound lost none of its force so far from the home of its weilder.

Truthfully, his fury about the apartment had quieted considerably at the insipid girl’s death. His continued presence was mostly for play: intimidate, kill, sew doubt, all things that he enjoyed, but all things that would lose their flavor if Thor made another attempt to worm his way in.

Loki enspelled his voice to reach Stark’s ears. “I’m afraid I’ll have to curtail my revenge to the next twenty minutes. I have an appointment on the other side of the Atlantic.”

There was no pause. “Supervillain seminar?”

He smirked. “If a seminar constitutes three people. Victor von Doom, Namor, and I are all that will be in attendance.” He wondered what the Avengers would do with that knowledge. Their attempts to parse through villain interpersonal relationships never failed to be entertaining. They came to such delightfully helpful false conclusions.

“Uh, didn’t Doom try to kill you with sharks?” Stark posed to him, incredulously.

The sigh he gave in response didn’t quite portray the quaintness of Stark’s statement. “So sweet of you to worry. His accomplice did. And that was weeks ago.” Three more throats slit, a wall toppled atop of several others, one clawed hand and a windpipe crushed in quick succession.

“Two!” Stark extended an arm for emphasis and slayed a billboard in the process; Loki shifted its course to strike a grouping of the creatures. “Two weeks!”

That earned consideration and a small frown as he dissipated a plume of fire before it reached its mark. “Ah, for us it was slightly longer.”

“Oh, I’m not even touching that mindfuck, no thank you.” Stark lost his position in the air and had to struggle to regain it. His armor was damaged; intriguing. Such a fragile thing, wrapping himself in the fallible safety of his own creations, so many facets to explore. “But I _will_ repeat this while enunciating Henry Higgins style: _he tried to have you killed by sharks._ ”

“Yes, and I buried him beneath a mountain first.” Loki leapt forward to place himself in the middle of a collection of five, placed five pinpricks of pressure at the appropriate distances, and burst their heads from the inside; it was a trick that would cost him a bit of power, but it was worth it for the impact it would have on Stark. Let him think that Loki could use that ability en masse at any chosen time. “Attempted murder is something of a theme in our working relationship. I am never bored with allies such as mine.”

“Your personal life leaves me speechless.” He was either impressed or taken aback. There was a sliver of disconcertion there as well that Loki attributed to seeing a future enemy exhibit power. It gave him something to smile about. “And that should be a sign.”

There was thunder, again, and this time much closer. Loki half-turned in the direction of the sound. His so-called brother would be making an appearance soon. It was time to take his leave.

“Place the ring I gave you in water,” he instructed Stark, without taking his eyes off the street ahead, the street that would give way to Thor.

“Okay, sure,” Stark replied, casual, flippant in a manner that gave Loki visions of testing what that facade could weather. “Why?”

Loki smiled, angled his face towards Stark so that he could see it. He wondered what Stark looked like beneath the armor at that moment, what his expression was when he had the safety of a mask, what injuries to his body he was attempting to bluff. “My reasoning would not matter to you. Now that I’ve said it, you will want to know.”

“ _Loki!_ ” Thor, damn him.

He did not turn away from Stark, maintained his smile, allowed Thor a brief glimpse of him, and then vanished.

\---

The meeting with Victor and Namor was short, consisting of one, intrinsic point: it was going to be a busy few months for the three of them, and if they would stay out of one another’s undertakings, it would be vastly appreciated. There was the continued added subtext of providing aid if it was asked for and of no great inconvenience. Loki had no qualms with that. It was refreshing to be involved with people who understood his ambitions and had an appreciation for those ends and his means; they accepted that he was who he said he was, and they did not seek to challenge that with stories of times long gone or emotions gone dry. Victor and Namor simply made adjustments for it with little fuss and few expectations. And if the three of them occasionally tried to kill each other, well, that was refreshing too.

In spite of his mortality, Victor had an interesting and admittedly brilliant mind. Namor, for his part, found himself drawing parallels between his ties to his people and the ties to his human father, and Loki’s confessed past as a man of two worlds. It wasn’t a parallel Loki could see to completion, but he did not object to Namor doing so. It had served to provide a common ground of sorts, that sensation that some part of him was alien and never being certain which. Loki was not the sort to seek out friends, but he was content with these sometimes allies, these minds he could exist with without entangling himself.

Loki bid them both pleasant plotting and declined Victor’s invitation to stay the night in Doomstadt. He did take the first few teleportation jumps with Namor to save the sub-mariner time on his journey home. They parted on the coast of Northern Ireland, and Loki covered the last stretch to New York City alone.

He chose an alley as his final destination and walked the rest of his way to the Brooklyn apartment. His stint in Denver had taught him that security guards did not appreciate phantom tenants who did not appear on camera footage. It was nothing that a little mind control couldn’t ease, but that ability took its toll, and it left an objectionable tang to his thoughts. Walking a short distance was no difficulty in the grand scheme of things.

There was a thicker smell of smoke in the night air, but the property damage had not extended into this neighborhood. Loki’s mouth quirked into a smile as he wondered how Stark had handled a frustrated Thor in an atmosphere of fire and pests. Thor would have wanted to know everything Loki had said, searching for one iota of the alleged sibling he had known, and Stark would say… what? The man was hardly the most predictable of his number, save for his vices.

A woman bumped into his shoulder; Loki stole her wedding ring. Items of sentimental value were potent in spellwork. As he had none of his own, he had to be creative. Hopefully, this marriage was a happy one. His last use of a wedding ring had resulted in a poison rather than the intended salve.

The key to his apartment spun from nothing into substance in the palm of his hand as he stepped up the stairs. 

He’d sleep, and then in the morning, he would continue the work that the pseudo-invasion had interrupted.

\---

It was rapidly becoming a familiar dream to him, averaging once a week since the failed Chitauri invasion and his escape from Asgard. Occasionally, the time of day presented would differ, varying from dusk to a fog-tempered late evening. The woods and their path, however, were ever the same. An ocean crashed against a shore some distance through the dense foliage on his left, and that noise of water was the first sound Loki became aware of. Gradually, the blank blackness of sleep would coalesce into tall trees, heavy with twisted branches and leaves that at one glance would be green and in another would appear as moldering hands. The importance of which was illusion was made infinitesimal by the law of dreams. 

There was a much greater concern to him. Coiling through the forest was a path, dotted with red-brown stones, bending to vanish impossibly from view every twenty paces. Loki followed it, unhurried, certain that at its end was a worthwhile conquest. The certainty was never something he could explain. The simple truth of it was that the pressure of that conviction made any other detail possess no significance, made him dismiss any thought save the path and reaching its conclusion.

For scattered, random seconds, at the edge of his sight there was a light flickering through green leaves or decayed fingers. It was blue-white fused with a nearly purple flame, and when Loki noticed it, he would pause, abruptly overcome with the realization he did not understand where he was. As it receded into the dark, his conviction would return, only to falter once more when the light resurfaced.

Hours passed in the span of mere minutes.

Eventually, the light stayed, and the foliage began to grasp empty air, thrashing to reach towards it, wind hissing through open fists to bend treetops as if to point.

What may have in the dream’s beginning been rainwater sitting damp between the rocks comprising the path, welled up as blood, the thick red-black crawling up the sides of Loki’s boots with each step he took. It kept getting deeper, and there were things beneath the pebbles, pushing up at sections of ground to create little, moving mounds.

Without even an attempt, he knew his magic would fail him.

Loki didn’t leave the path; he _ran_ from it.

The leaves didn’t try to pretend any longer. They stayed as hands, snatching out to grab at him as he passed, rotten to the point the nails peeled off on his clothes, the skin at the back of his neck, his hair. He tore through them like wax paper, eyes fixed on the hovering point of light breaking the darkness, the steady beat of the crash of ocean driving him faster.

Flecks of gore and bloody dewdrops created a patina on every part of him it touched, drained into his eyes. He did not lessen his pace, he did not stumble. The wind shaped voices, and those voices shaped words, and those words shaped accusations that built up inside him and made him want to turn and face them, to scream denial and be torn apart. He did not allow himself to do so.

That light was his opportunity for escape. If he could reach it, the rest would stop. He felt it with the same certainty he’d felt about the path. If he could reach it, everything else would be…

There was a clearing, dead grass encircled by dead trees. The world around him quieted completely as he broke into it. The ocean, the wind, the twisting of trees, the splitting of ground… It all went silent.

In front of him, the fluctuating orb of light hung in the air, a constant, contained flurry of motion.

Loki slowed, stopped.

There was a dead man sitting underneath it, bathed in the glow. The corpse lifted its head, a fleshless, off-white skull, as Loki approached. There was little left of him. Bits of skin still clung in scant patches scattered over his body, but the majority of what could be seen was bone.

The skeleton clacked its teeth together, impossibly fast, like fingernails drumming on marble. 

When it spoke, it had no voice, and Loki could not understand.

\---

He woke up in tangled sheets that restricted his movements and heightened the panic that had broken his sleep. Prophecy, that dream had the undeniable texture of prophecy, and that terrified him. Memory was dulled, and all he possessed was lingering, absolute fear and a habitual need to find his brother, to talk even though Thor rarely had insight, to give voice to his fear and know his brother was listening---

Then reality set in, Loki adjusted to it, and he got up to make himself a cup of coffee.

Early morning light fell on his desk as he took a seat behind it, angling the chair to face the window and the patches of sky that weren’t obstructed by the surrounding buildings. He had some choices to consider. His original plan had been to continue his research into magics of imprisonment, but it would be some time before he could put that material to use. A different course would be to set up an experiment with the knowledge he’d obtained thus far and use the time it took to reach completion to gather data on the Avengers. Victor would be in the area, as they’d discussed, but observation alone would not interfere, particularly when taking into account that the Avengers were not the team Victor had his eyes on.

His mug was unnecessarily hot in his hands. He murmured a few words over it as he took a sip, and the coffee cooled as it passed his lips. 

It wasn’t much of a choice to make, really. That forest was fresh in his mind, and the resulting mood was not conducive to book work. This was not a day to be spent in a lab. There was still research that he could do while siphoning off some of the excess energy playing games with his pulse.

He picked up the previous night’s stolen wedding ring, turned it over in his hand. It would make as good of a focus as any.

He vanished.

The trip to his cabin outside of Denver took five minutes. It would have taken ten seconds if he’d been able to hold onto the Denver apartment as well, but he had so many grudges already, it seemed petty to keep such a small one. In the winter, the cold would set into his bones immediately, the snow and mountain backdrop welcoming him with a shine of white and green outside the stretch of window. There was a cynical sort of enjoyment that he took from it. He supposed it made him feel less of a lie.

With a wave of his hand, he plastered the illusion of an empty room over the windows and disrupted the previously-installed internal illusion of furniture and domesticity. What had once appeared to be a family room and kitchen dissolved into a gutted first floor lined with shelves and a misplaced stone well in the center. 

Loki clenched the wedding ring in his hand and sculpted it into a reservoir, pouring his magic into it until it nearly spilled over the edges of what it could hold. He could feel it draining from him as if down an incline. The diamond in the center adopted a green tint that glistened gold in the light. He carried it over to the well, turned his hand palm-down, and let it fall through his open fingers.

A mist blending into the colors of ice coiled up from the well’s depths to catch the ring before it fell. The tendrils suspended the ring, turning it over as if weighing it. As it settled in one place, Loki stepped to the edge of the room and began raising the dome of purple that had nearly been his death. The air crackled around him, seemed to take offense to his presence and intentions. Taming it came as second nature to him, a skill he’d perfected at a young age. When it calmed, the sphere came into existence in small strokes resembling a glass gradually filling with water.

An hour and twenty seven minutes passed before the edges leveled out at the apex and the dome closed. 

Loki felt a small thrill as he began inscribing the runes. A primitive dialect it may be, but it was one that had threatened to take his life and steal his power, and he had dissected its nature and perfected its use with nothing but memory and residual scars on his magic. Some matters he took very personally. 

With the last inscription, the light pulsed, and the runes began to turn in small, precise circles, sending one another spinning like gears.

For a while he stood in place, watching. He surveyed it, absorbing every detail until he was assured that it was working properly.

Satisfied, he approached the clock hanging on the opposite wall. Its hands came to a stop as Loki stared before clicking their way around to point straight up. Then, lifting two fingers to aim at the ring, he drew a rope between the two objects. It coalesced to fasten around the hands, and they began to tick away seconds once more. Later, Loki would return, and he would be able to measure how long it had taken the dome to drain the ring completely of the magic Loki had given it. He suspected the rate had to do with the configuration of the runes. The first dome he’d mastered, a replica of the one form the ocean, had been at an apparently high setting. For this experiment, he altered their angle, in the hopes of discovering a pattern.

He checked over the connecting rope several times before judging it secure and without anomaly.

His work in Denver was done.

\---

The manor where the Avengers had taken up residence was short three members. It seemed Stark had taken Thor and the monster’s keeper on a vacation of sorts, if the hawk’s dialogue as he sparred with the spider on the front walk was anything to judge by. The last, Steve Rogers, was sketching on a balcony. At the current angle, Loki could not see the subject, but on a handful of occasions past, he had known him to capture landscapes. The captain had a creative mind that had been cultivated long before that brawn. Taken together, the scene was one of familial health, two team members sharpening their skills while using one another as the whet stone, and a third remaining within eye-sight, involved even without the physicality of the others.

These three, Loki was confident in his summation of. He had traveled the inside of Barton’s mind, and gained all the insight he needed into that man and into Natasha Romanov from the expedition therein. Rogers was no mystery of a man if one studied Midgard’s recent history; he had his complexities, but their root was an easy one to discover, and from that point, their conclusion was equally as simple to extrapolate.

The two Avengers Loki had an interest in investigating were Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, and they weren’t present. He needed a name, a location. If he had been feeling particularly daring in his sparrow form, he might have flown down to perch on the railing beside where Rogers was currently propping his sketch pad. It wouldn’t have fooled Thor, but it might escape the notice of Rogers. As it was, his itinerary wasn’t so lacking that he could spare the time cleaning mortal out of his clothes if he was discovered, and even if he was burdened with that freedom, he had told Victor he wouldn’t inspire local mayhem for the next few weeks; occasionally, he did try to keep his word. Instead, he chose a tree within better hearing distance of the two assassins. They were still littered in bruises from the recent attack on the city, but their form was flawless. Loki was given the opportunity to observe the differences in their fighting styles when it was focused in non-lethal force while he waited.

It didn’t take long for Barton to make a sarcastic comment about a trip to the beach. The name of the beach, however, was not forthcoming. When the sun began to pass its highest point, Loki grew weary of listening. He needed to change tactics.

The windowsill of an office belonging to Pepper Potts proved much more beneficial.

Half an hour later, Loki was standing on the grassy slope of a hill gradually giving way to sand, an image of the scenery painted around him in a cylinder to conceal his presence: mid-afternoon sky, trees, steeper hills in the distance. Below him, Stark, Banner, and Thor were sprawled out in the sand. To their left the shore curved in on itself, and from Loki’s position atop the hill, he could see their vessel docked on the opposite stretch. Loki wondered what sort of plan they had in mind should they be attacked. If he destroyed the boat, they would be stranded. They would have methods of communication, surely, but from this vantage point, he could incapacitate Banner before the other two could stand. Stark’s armor would be on the ship. He’d be defenseless, and Thor…

Loki took a seat, mindful that a bodiless shadow didn’t creep out from below his cloak, and watched.

The pleasantness of the scene was enough to choke him.

Their trust of one another--- it was _ludicrous_. Clearly, there was some mental switch that they employed to forget what the others were capable of, their pasts, their follies, their fallible and wholly-individualized judgments, the sheer humanity of them, and the pithy example of immortality that Thor represented. It was the only explanation for how these three, and the others, could endure the exposure of that camaraderie.

The continued association with Banner was the most perplexing. They’d given him a home and fed him the lies of safety and solidarity, seemingly forgetting that their lives were beholden to the whims of the monster living inside Banner’s skull. Relationships had been cultivated with that monster as well; it made manipulating the circumstances more difficult. Destabilizing Banner and the Hulk would be an ideal beginning to undermining the team. That was undeniable. The Avengers were built on a foundation of forgiving one another’s pasts to work towards a common future. If that mindset proved defective with their greatest feat of trust, with these single-bodied friends they had come to cherish, they would be demoralized.

Loki could work with that. It was certain to happen in its own course, but the timing was unpredictable, and Loki wasn’t a proponent of experiencing those messes when he could be orchestrating them. Banner wasn’t so easily driven away for the sake of protecting others now that the Hulk had shown he could cooperate within the capacity of a team. There was a newly-burgeoning trust there as well. It would have to come from another angle. Likewise, Banner expected SHIELD to have contingency plans against him; those would come as no surprise and would not have the desired effect.

If it came from within, however… If it was shown that one of the Avengers was not the shining example of good faith that they claimed to be…

Below him, Banner reached out and hit Stark lightly, open-handed on the side of the head, sending his sunglasses tumbling to the sand. Stark’s answering smile was cocky and a perfect aggregate of the surrounding light, the breeze, the contentment of it all.

Of course it would need to be Stark.

Perhaps a project subtly dedicated to a certain monster’s internment would come to exist within Stark industries, one of the many side projects that went over the desk of underlings but that Stark was only dimly aware of, and perhaps that project would have very specific directives that would find their way to the eyes of Banner ---a close, _trusted_ friend, who would naturally have access, and perhaps he would see Stark’s name on the project and the charming array of misconceptions that made up his world would fall apart.

It would be a long con, but it was all quite achievable. Loki would need to instigate the scenario through a side corporation that had been absorbed by Stark industries, one with similar undertakings so that it would go largely unnoticed by Stark and appear to be purposefully hidden to Banner. Simple enough.

Thor’s voice carried up on the wind, the words largely indiscernible, but the mirth behind them impossible to misinterpret.

Loki’s hands fisted in the earth. Abruptly, he was of the opinion that the usefulness of this venture had run its course. He should return to Denver. The vindictive, reckless urge to become visible to them first, to illustrate their defenselessness, filled his head for a precious few breaths, but he did not act upon it. Sky, grass, and sand surrounded him in a pane until he was safely to the next point in the short series that would take him to Denver.

For adjustments at a forty-five degree angle, the dome had absorbed the entirety of the ring’s magic in three hours and twenty-seven minutes. Loki refueled the ring, reset the runes of the experiment for a ninety degree angle, wound the clock backwards, and left it to be checked the next morning. All the while, flashes of color reminiscent of that beach trespassed in his thoughts, disrupting his concentration and prolonging his work.

His apartment was dark when he arrived in New York, but the falling evening was still tempered with blue, and that combined with the lights of surrounding buildings rendered his own redundant. Loki rifled through his kitchen, kept in stock largely for appearances but occasionally useful when he spent more than one night in sequence in the same location, and ate. There was still a residual nausea from his initial encounter with the dome. It had nearly drained him, and while he could recover his stores, the rawness of being stripped of his magic’s presence resonated deeply. The sensation could take months to fade completely. 

He should construct a dome around Victor. That would be intriguing and appropriate. It was his turn to do the double-crossing, after all. He’d wait a while though. So soon after his own experience with the dome, Victor might take Loki’s betrayal as revenge, which simply wasn’t true. Watching Victor endeavor to piece together the dome’s workings would be purely for academic interest.

It should have been too early for sleep, but Loki attempted it anyway. The dreams he suffered were less cohesive if he kept his sleep cycle erratic, he found.

It proved a false hope.

\---

As he reached the clearing that was home to the light, it was to find the glow beckoning him brighter than it had before, glaring to the point the skeleton crouched underneath it was almost blotted from view. Loki was exhausted, every inch the fox pursued by tireless hounds. His breathing came in sharp bursts that caught like barbs in his chest and throat. Eyes fixated on the light, he swayed on unbalanced feet into the glade’s center until collapsing, finally, to his knees.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, to the treeline.

Corpses with too many joints thrashed in contorted movements, torsos twisting at right angles to hips, legs and arms pushing out of socket, hands scrabbling at moss, at bark, at dirt. They would tear him to pieces, Loki knew, these creatures that had pressed up into air from beneath the forest path. The rotting hands grown from the tree limbs dug their fingers into the skin of the corpses, pulled at flaps of skin until they peeled back from ribs, hooked into unhinged jaws only to lose digits to hungry mouths. 

Every fraction of this place was dead, and every fraction of it wanted to kill him.

“Yes or no questions,” Loki directed to the skeleton beneath the orb, his voice hoarse, mouth dry. At this level, it was easier to see through the glare.

It tilted its head at him as though curious, and then, slowly, nodded.

“Does this repetitive drivel have a point?” Loki hissed through clenched teeth, gripping his forearms and holding the rends along them closed. Blood welled up, wet.

A nod.

He began the process of calming his breathing, tried to marshal air to his lungs. “It is not merely a nightmare?”

A tilt, no reply. No matter, Loki’s mind had already perceived that pain that belied sorcery or prophecy. He didn’t need this creature’s answer to that question.

“Will its meaning become known to me?” That information was the most crucial to him. When he understood the dream, the dream would be of use, and he could determine an apt corollary.

There was a long moment in which it stared. Then it nodded. A denotation of time, perhaps?

Loki began to pose his next question, but remained silent when he saw the skeleton raise its hand to point at the light above its head.

The light died.

The forest found him.

\---

He awoke to a night that was still young and utterly unchanged by his waking scream at the lingering, phantom sensations of being gutted and halved. His eyes clenched closed, but he immediately reopened them when he was struck by the imprint of seeing the lower portion of his body being dragged away from a spire of spine in starlight. Loki pressed the line of his back against the coolness of headboard, convinced himself of his wholeness. His heart was still racing towards escape it hadn’t found, and the force of it ached. The dream still tasted of prophecy, and he had been ripped to pieces, he had _died_.

It took him less than a minute to reasonably collect himself. It took significantly longer than that to give his thoughts direction.

He took every precaution in returning to the beach, save for not going at all.

The illusion he painted around himself was the nightscape of the previous one, but despite how effortless it should have been, he was still shaken and the progress was comparatively slow. The mimicry of the scenery behind him persistently shifted into one of the clearing, with the corpses moving behind it, until Loki was watching his nightmare play across his own skin. He fought it down, and restored the correct environment, but there were chills setting him on edge, and the nausea intensified. At the illusion’s completion and his regained composure, he stood on the same hill, and when he surveyed the ocean to his left, he found that Stark’s boat was still anchored there. Lights came from it, and on the deck, Banner and Thor were laid out with empty bottles strewn around them. Thor’s suitably thunderous laugh reached him as though they were side by side, and unbidden, a portion of Loki’s panic was eased. Shortly thereafter, he regained his focus. This man was not his brother. This man was not a personification of safety. This man was a flesh and bone lie that Loki would unravel.

Loki sank onto the sparse grass, arms propped on his knees, and observed from the darkness as two misguided friends drunkenly regaled each other with the parts of their lives the other had missed. Speaking as someone privy to Thor’s, he knew Banner’s source would run dry far in advance. Stark would need to relieve him.

And along that line, where was Stark? He was not in any part of the vessel that Loki could see, and surely if he was present, he would be with the rest of his team. The line of his mouth thinned. Loki’s eyes scanned the shore carefully and found a stripe of footprints reaching far to the right, along the place the three heroes had rested earlier that day. They were fresh, some not completely dulled by the waves. Loki swept to his feet and followed along the hill, either for the sake of a distraction, curiosity, or a marriage of the two. There were three Avengers on this beach, and he was missing one of the set. If it also gave him distance from Thor’s laugh, and thoughts other than a forest path, then so be it.

He found Stark a distance from the boat. The mortal businessman had taken off his shoes and rolled up his grey pants around the knees. A cellphone was resting precariously on the top of one shoe at the base of the hill, and a recently concluded call at least explained the trek. Loki tightened his cloak of illusion around himself as Stark kicked leisurely through the shallows and cast a look up at his position.

Then Stark approached the shore, stopping when the edges of waves slipped just around his ankles, and turned to face the ocean.

The night air nearly swallowed his silhouette as he knelt in the sand, and the ebb of water washed up around his knees. If it bothered him that his expensive slacks were becoming soaked, he did not show it. Hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing, Stark took his right hand out of his pocket, and in the same moment Loki made the mental connection to the dim spark of purple, Stark held it beneath the wave as it pulled back to the ocean. Where Stark had been washed in shadow, he was suddenly caught in pale, white light. The sight was not unpleasant.

From the confines of the ring’s gem, the spectral fish pushed through a widening gap in the runes and into the water, growing to the size of a human fist. It jumped once, twice, an unearthly shine against a black backdrop, and then it was spinning playful patterns through the waves. Stark staggered to his feet and took several uneven steps forward to watch as the fish swam in the murky ocean, never straying too far, occasionally darting to the shallowest point at Stark’s feet before setting out again. The creature bore a strong resemblance to the species of shark that had attacked them; he couldn’t have missed that.

Loki didn’t need to see Stark’s face to know he was entranced. It was written in his posture, the way his head turned to follow the fish’s movement. Loki didn’t _need_ to see it, but he wanted to. Contrary to what was probably wise, Loki found himself taking measured steps down the hill, drawing closer to where Stark stood transfixed.

If he revealed himself to Stark, he’d call for the others, alert them to Loki’s presence… but right away, or eventually? The man did seem to have an inclination to talk prior to decisive action. He was brave, and not in a way that was foolish, ignorant. It was the sort of bravery that coated the healthy, appropriate dose of fear that came with knowledge. Stark posed no threat to him without his armor, and Loki could vanish before Thor and Banner reached them. Loki could lie, say that he had built a failsafe into the ring that signaled him when this piece of the spell was enacted. That would preserve the misconception that he could not make himself invisible to them. The question, then, was whether Loki wanted to reveal himself. 

“Well, fishie…” Tony spoke into the silence, and Loki froze. “Loki didn’t exactly tell me how to get you back home, so, uh, I’m just going to try…” He bent down and lowered his ring hand beneath the water once more. Instantaneously, the fish rushed forward, shrinking as it went, and re-entered the gem. Tony lifted his hand and observed it, fascinated. “Okay, that’s. Okay. Yeah, I’ll admit that’s pretty cool.”

Loki, hidden from view several yards away, smiled.

Tony turned from the ocean, and there was an unnervingly similar smile on the man’s face as his eyes stayed set on the ring. Then he glanced up, still smiling, and his stare fell across the place where Loki was standing. All expression bled from him, and he went completely still.

Belatedly, Loki gave a thought to his own footprints, unguarded by magic and clear in the sand, a mistake he had not made in many years but that had been overlooked in the aftermath of a nightmare bespeaking prophecy. The sound of waves pierced through the moment, and Loki was reminded of the sound of a distant ocean providing the backdrop of forest path as cold, dead things dismembered him. He needed simplicity. He needed a distraction. He needed a conversation that would tear his mind from where it dwelled on dissecting the new ending of that dream. This man could provide that.

Inch by inch, Loki let the illusion fall.

Stark took a half-step backward, and his eyes widened in alarm, but the word that left his mouth wasn’t a call to arms. It was a soft, shocked, “Hi.”

\---  
\----  
\---

“Loki?” Tony ventured when his first greeting didn’t get a response. The guy was just standing there, bruise-like shadows under his eyes, expression blank. “Uh, are you… Are you okay, or…” Panic was not for right now, Tony insisted to his body, panic was for later. Damn, why didn’t they have pamphlets for this sort of thing? Tony would totally read a What To Do When Approached By Villains Outside Of Battle pamphlet. He was pretty sure fighting was off the menu. Loki didn’t look like he was up for a tussle, unless sleep-deprivation was the new battle chic.

“Talk,” Loki instructed, and wow, his voice was a few scratches away from a Joan Rivers impersonation. Whatever was going on, it had done a number on him. How did he get there? Fuck, how _long_ had he been there for that matter?

“Okay,” Tony soothed, thoughts dashing on a hamster wheel. “Talking I can do. I’m awesome at talking. If they gave doctorates for talking, I’d have several. Talking is one of my many specialties.” He fought to get a handle on the lizard brain twinge that perked up and did the salsa around magic. This wasn’t as simple as that, he could tell. “I can talk about anything, anything at all, just name it.”

Loki’s eyes fell closed, but he opened them right away like he didn’t like what he saw there. Tony knew that look. He’d experienced it. “Anything.”

So word soup; if talking was a specialty, then word soup was the house special. “I, uh, I like the ring? It’s cool. It’s like having a pet now, but I don’t have to worry about feeding it or anything. Or do I? I’m never sure when it comes to magic.” Tony left a pause in case Loki wanted to take that thread, but he kept going when he didn’t. “Anyway, it was a nice gift, and I think I figured it out. The reason you gave it to me? It wasn’t just a message.” A gesture towards the ocean, that was really indicting an entirely different stretch of water, emphasized the next statement. “It was the debt thing, because I saved you that one time. I accepted the gift, so it cleared us.” He turned on one of his brightest smiles. “I’d have done it for free, but thanks.”

“Your gratitude is worthless to me,” Loki murmured, and his voice wasn’t getting any less rough any time soon. Still, that sounded like a line, routine, lacked the usual bitterness.

“I believe you,” Tony said agreeably. “Just like I believe that you really do just want me to talk.” Topic, a topic, find a topic. “How about those invading lizard things? You acted like you knew what they were, but you never did say.”

“Cherufe,” Loki replied, because that was totally helpful.

“Sure, those. That was interesting, right?”

The answering expression was one of obvious disagreement.

“So, not right. But, um. We beat them! No human deaths too… Some injuries, but nothing ultra serious.” Tony rubbed at the back of his neck, cut his eyes towards the bend of beach that was concealing the boat, Thor, and Bruce. He was wearing the wrist locator, so he could call for the armor, and that would clue the others in… but he wasn’t completely confident in its speed versus the speed of the god standing in front of him. Loki wasn’t acting all that threatening yet, anyway. Waiting this out felt like the smart thing to do, felt like the _right_ thing to do. “We managed to take about a fifth of them alive, but we aren’t really sure what to do with them. It just didn’t seem right to mow them down when they were cornered and defenseless. Did you know they ran out of fire after a while?”

“Yes.”

Well shit, this was going to be such a fruitful conversation, Loki was just _so_ chatty. “Of course you know, what was I thinking?” Tony smacked the side of his head with a palm in mock embarrassment.

Loki’s gaze caught on his raised wrist and followed it back down. “That bracelet. It summons your armor, correct?”

Damn. “Err…”

“It saved you,” Loki commented, tone mild. A bit of that familiar, evil swagger crept back into his voice. He took a gracefully swaying step towards Tony. “After the window.”

Damn, damn, damn. “Yeah,” he confirmed with a shrug, because, fine, he could have swagger too. “I’ve got lots of neat jewelry, you know.”

“Hmm,” was the non-committal reply, complete with regal head nod and a glitter to the green of his eyes. “And why haven’t you summoned it?”

Tony dropped some of the showmanship, let some seriousness get through. This wasn’t something he ever wanted to put humor in, whether that humor was faked or not. This ---Loki giving off the impression of pain--- wasn’t a joke. “No offense, but, uh… You don’t look like a guy who’s out for a fight.” He looked more like the man who ends up at a bar and waits for the bartender to lend an ear.

Loki leveled him with a fixed stare that seemed considering but may have been closer to dissecting. “I’m not. You happen to be a capable distraction, Stark.”

“So it’s been said.” Then, because sometimes he was a stupid bastard, he added, “I’m doing the same thing for Thor right now.” Tony wet his lips, cracked, tasting of salt, dragged the next bit up his throat with nothing but honesty and the emotion behind it. “He misses you. It’s wrecking him.”

A slow smile made that mouth all the more dangerous, weaponized. “That is the plan.” Spoken like poetry.

Images of Thor in pain over Loki flashbombed his brain, created a molten, white haze. “Well, it’s a stupid one,” Tony snapped, and okay, that came out way angrier than he intended, and the aggressive front-tilt his body had molded itself into probably wasn’t the wisest move, and he _knew_ it was evident in his face.

Loki matched him for it.

Tony had just enough time to register Loki bringing a hand up and snarling a word before he was hit by an invisible force in the chest and flung back into the ocean. It knocked the breath out of him, and there was no possible way his already bruised ribs weren’t worse for the wear. Cold washed over him, salt stung his eyes, got in his mouth, but he was still in relatively shallow water, so that when he sat up, his head and shoulders were above the waves. His vision blurred when he forced his eyes open, gasping, struggling to his feet, doubled-over.

When he glanced up, Loki was gone.


	3. Special, obsessive

His new pet magic fish circled him in the shallows with what looked oddly like concern but might have been the spell equivalent of a homing beacon. After some stabilizing breaths and collecting ---Beauregard, this fish would be named Beauregard, so said his post-adrenalin rush mind--- Beauregard, he trudged back to shore. It hurt. Each step ricocheted up his body and used his ribs like bongo drums. Loki packed a punch, or whatever the magic counterpart of a punch was. Of course, he’d already known that, and he’d antagonized him anyway. There just wasn’t a way for Tony to hear Loki be so casual about putting Thor through hell and not say something.

This wasn’t the time to be thinking about that though.

Tony reached shore and huffed glumly when he realized he was going to have to bend to get his phone. In a fit of refusal and ingenuity, he slipped his shoes on, and then kicked up hacky-sack style so his phone did an aerial somersault. Phone caught and pain mostly averted, he started his walk, creating a new line of footprints next to what was left of the old above the tide. The babble of thoughts that usually plagued him at any given time were as stunned into silence as he was, gaping mouths opening and closing in Morse code for _what the hell_. If there was an explanation, it hadn’t occurred.

A few minutes later, Tony sloshed up the ladder onto the deck of his boat, doing his best to keep his back ramrod straight and not tweak his ribs. He was semi-successful, complete with a complementary grimace.

“Hey…” Bruce sat up at the sight of him, sounding as if he’d had aspirations of a lecture but then had gestured with his beer and found himself distracted. He righted himself in admirable time. “You promised you wouldn’t go drunk swimming.”

“And I kept that promise,” Tony protested, still shaky in the aftermath of seeing Loki and dialing up the wattage on his smile to compensate. “The truth is, I---” he got a look at Thor’s face, his wide, contented grin, and imagined it destroyed, “---okay, I totally went drunk swimming. That first bit was just me psyching you out. Because I do that.” He swiped a hand down his chest. “I never liked these clothes anyway.”

“You belong in armor,” Thor agreed.

Bruce shook his head, but there was a dry, fond chuckle in there somewhere. “Or in a daycare center.”

“I resent that, and resentment increases my need for a sandwich. Bruce, would you like to join me?” He combed a hand through his hair, his and Bruce’s signal for time-for-personal-talk-now, usually reserved for emergencies of the mad-scientist variety that the public (read: Pepper or Fury, in order of fear inspired) didn’t need to know about, but also applicable here.

“I would love a sandwich.” Bruce’s eyebrows were making a bid for his hairline, but he was getting to his feet, catching Tony’s hand for balance when it was offered.

“Thor, guard the booze,” Tony said, in his best imitation of Steve’s command voice.

Thor formed a fist of determination, never having risen from his prone position. “With my life!” And he looked like a guy out on vacation with his friends, not at all like he had a brother who’d done the things Loki had done, not at all like a man who had been through the things he and that brother had been through. That look wasn’t going to last, but Tony didn’t want to take it away from him yet if he didn’t have to.

“We’ll be back in a second,” Bruce said as he and Tony stepped over him in pursuit of the bitty kitchen.

They’d barely gotten the door closed before Tony began with, “Okay, so first of all, don’t panic. It’s over now, everything’s fine.”

Bruce’s eyebrows climbed a little higher. Tony loved drunken Bruce and his adorably captionable facial expressions. “That opening statement is never a good sign. What could you have possibly managed to do with nothing but a beach and a cell--- no, you know what, I’m preemptively not surprised.” He gestured with one hand and opened the mini fridge with the other to begin rifling for sandwich ingredients. “Continue.”

“So after I got off the phone with Pepper… Loki showed up?” There was a pause in the sound of jars clinking and bags rustling, but then Bruce kept on, so Tony kept on too. “And we talked for a bit, and then I said something he didn’t like, so he punched me with magic and vanished.”

When Bruce turned back to him, he looked pensive. “You’re wearing the creepy fish ring, aren’t you?”

Tony’s face instinctively sculpted itself into a long-perfected expression of faux innocence, a member of that vast arsenal of self-defense tactics he’d developed at school, in boardrooms, and around Pepper.

All its flawlessness got in response was folded arms. “And you put it in the water like Loki told you to, didn’t you?”

Obviously the faux innocence hadn’t done the trick, so Tony added a smile.

“Tony,” Bruce sighed, leaning back against the counter. The stance of exasperation was somewhat dampened by the fact he was holding deli-sliced cheese and some lettuce.

“And by the way,” Tony persisted, raising his hands up defensively. “I was wrong---”

“---well, yes---”

“---Beauregard, my fish, isn’t actually creepy.”

Another pause. “ _That’s_ where you were wrong?” Bruce was doing the calm, non-judgmental incredulity thing he did so well. “Not the part where you had a chat with a supervillain on the beach… The magic fish?”

“I’m calling him Bo for short,” Tony confirmed. “I think my subconscious was going ‘get to the boat’, fixated on ‘boat’, and tried to rhyme it with something. Bo, boat…”

Bruce sighed again, the sound bone-deep and probably having little to do with Tony so much as how things seemed to happen to them all at once. “Before you get any further down that nervous rant waiting to happen, why don’t you tell me what Loki had to say?” He got a plate from the cabinet, followed by four slices of bread. 

“Well…” Tony trailed off. “Nothing, actually. He told me to talk and said I made a good distraction. The guy looked like he was in bad shape though.”

“He’d been in a fight?” Bruce prompted as he unscrewed a jar of mayonnaise. Bless him and his lack of panic. Or, possibly, bless him and his inability to be alarmed by Tony. The thought of this conversation becoming a lead-in for an ensuing conversation with the Hulk didn’t come to mind until just then, and it was discarded as soon as it did. That wouldn’t happen. Tony knew it, knew it with the same certainty he had that the next time he breathed, there’d be air. And even if Hulk _did_ make an appearance, once they got through the whole Hulk-won’t-fit-in-this-kitchen thing, ultimately, Tony wasn’t worried.

“No, like…” He waved a hand in the air searchingly. “ _Emotionally._ ”

That got a full-on halt to all movement, until, finally, Bruce met his eyes. “Loki was upset… _emotionally_ ,” he stressed. “And went to _you_ for a distraction?”

Oh, that was not going to go down a good road, bad Bruce, bad. “Well, it happened right after I put the ring in the water,” Tony redirected. “Which, by the way, is super cool. The fish comes out of the ring and swims around, and---” Bruce looked like he was going to say something non-peaceable if he kept going, “---anyway, so. Maybe when I put it in the water, it summoned him from the sinister, angsty depths. And he just happened to not be having a good night?”

“I don’t think it’s sensible to assume anything with Loki just happens…” Bruce said slowly.

“I hear you, but seriously, that was all.” Tony reached forward and grabbed the half-made sandwich from Bruce’s plate. “He showed up, told me to talk, and acted like he was trying not to think about something. Then I mentioned Thor, and he got pissed and vamoosed.”

“When I am sober, and can pin you down in a conversation, we will be talking about this again. In detail,” Bruce informed him. It didn’t take someone familiar with Bruce to tell he was more worried than he was letting on; it was one of those moments where believing this was a man who lived beneath a constant hum of anger was easier. Bruce wore his heart, not on his sleeve necessarily, but certainly just inside the cuff. Close to the surface, but still covered. Tony appreciated that about him. He was exactly the sort of friend that Tony needed, and he’d deny a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them.

“Yeah, we’ll have a heart-to-reactor, or however that goes.” Tony infused as much good-natured non-concern as he could into the words, not nearly enough to be convincing, but enough to set a baseline for Bruce to follow his lead.

“But for the moment, while we can do nothing about it, sandwiches.” Bruce pushed a paper towel into his hands. “We should get back to Thor. Let’s… not say anything to him until we have a better idea of why Loki was here.”

It was unfinished, but it was a start, and Tony had the balm of knowing he’d told someone who exhibited far more responsibility than he usually did. If Bruce thought it was smart to wait a bit before telling Thor too, then it made Tony feel less like a secretive ass. Of course they’d tell him, but _hey, your brother was upset so he showed up at our vacation to knock me into the ocean and didn’t even say hi_ was the sort of thing that needed a follow-up. There wasn’t much that could cushion that blow, but Tony could try. He’d try, and Bruce would temper that trying, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much as Tony suspected it was going to.

They walked back onto the deck with huge smiles and laid out next to Thor with a veritable cornucopia of beer, stretching in various states of laziness to watch the night sky. The ocean tide knocked the boat this way and that, and gave their evening some refreshing white noise. The next morning, they’d head home to Chez Avengers, and they’d get back to the daily grind. 

For right then, though, they just had a good night.

\---

Forty-six hours later, Steve dropped a cup of coffee on the desk in front of Tony, but he was so fixated on the screen in front of him that he almost didn’t notice this fantastic turn of events. Steam peeled up from the café ambrosia, underappreciated next to shiny lights and graphs. Steve snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention, good humor crinkling the edges of his eyes. “Tony… Either accept the coffee or go to sleep.”

“It doesn’t follow _rules_ , Steve!” Tony threw his hands up in the air with every ounce of his considerable theatrical talent. The movement sent a few hovering cubes of data tumbling away before they righted themselves and jerked back into position. “No rules! None!” He let his arms drop to plant his palms on his desk, leaning forward to scrutinize the readings depicting the ring’s schematics.

“Because you follow so many,” Steve pointed out.

Tony snatched up the cup of coffee and took a deep swallow before saying, “You’re missing the point, Cap.”

“And that would be?” Steve asked with that soft smile that meant he was indulging him.

“Magic!” A sweeping gesture with the mug and a scowl accompanied the exclamation. “Fuck magic. Fuck it hard.”

There was a long-suffering sigh. “Well, when you’re done with this, there’s dinner.”

Tony did his best to fit a wounded expression around his preoccupation. “You couldn’t have brought it with the coffee?”

“No,” was the disgustingly chipper response. “If you want it, you’ll have to leave the lab.”

“Bah.” Like that was an option. Tony may not have discovered how this thing operated, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other questions he’d answered. He was learning, even if he wasn’t learning precisely what he’d set out to. There wasn’t a stopping point on the horizon. If he wanted to be able to use this information, Tony was going to need to put in hours in that special, obsessive way.

Steve shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. “All right. I’ll pack up the leftovers in case you change your mind. I know how you feel about steak quesadillas.” He clapped a hand around the back of Tony’s neck. “Try to sleep at some point. Please?”

The look in Steve’s eyes had the same effect as hiccupping babies and sleepy puppies. “Promise,” Tony volunteered, as powerless as the next guy. “A few more slides worth of information, and I’ll take a break.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Steve said. He started towards the door. “But if I check the fridge in the morning, and there are the same number of quesadillas that went in…”

“Force fed, yada yada. You betcha, Cap,” Tony waved him away.

At the sound of Steve leaving, Tony did pause, pressing the heels of his hands into his temples and scrunching his eyes shut. Magic was not his forte. Tony wasn’t used to having something not be his forte. He was a man full of fortes. The reality of the situation, however, was that he was having trouble grasping the rules directing it. That, and there seemed to be completely different sets of rules depending on the person using it, the place where it was cast, the reasons behind it, etc. He’d spent the better part of his day back from the beach researching the laws governing the powers of various magic-wielding individuals in the SHIELD database. The conclusion he’d reached was that there were just as many different fields under the label of Magic as there were fields under Science, and even beyond that, Tony had a hard time wrapping his head around the variables when he didn’t understand how they were supposed to function in the first place.

What he did understand was that if he could figure out how the shield-gem-whatever in the ring worked, then he might have a clue how to block some of Loki’s magic. He didn’t think trying to work it into a prison cell was a good idea. Tony had a feeling Loki wouldn’t take it well, and if Loki could manipulate the magic behind it enough to make the ring, then the same old cage probably wasn’t going to work. If Tony could just put a new spin on it, turn the magic-eating aspect into a dampener maybe… But that was going to be hard to do if he couldn’t get a grip on the basics. At least he had the comfort of knowing it looked like gibberish to Bruce too. There was always the option of taking it to an outside contact, but the problem with that was having to explain the story behind the ring. He wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure people would have not-so-good reactions to a supervillain making him jewelry.

If he wanted to be able to develop something from the ring, he was going to have to decipher it on his own. The team was behind him on it, with Thor and Bruce backing the logic of the magic and science enough to convince Steve, but he wanted to stay under Fury’s radar as long as he could. Steve wouldn’t dodge protocol for him like Clint had, no matter how much he wanted to, but he could hold off on divulging the ring’s maker for as long as it was purely their business. If and when the ring had global implications, then Steve would say something. So far though, time had shown it to be a taunt in bauble form, and that didn’t warrant the paperwork.

“ _The weapons and materials that you noted for testing have been cycled through, sir. Simulations reveal no indicated device can break the inner barrier without killing those imprisoned. _”__

“Thanks, JARVIS.” Tony downed the rest of his coffee like a personal challenge. “Okay, start on the catalogued abilities of magic-users earmarked by SHIELD. Put it up against the data collected on Shark God Guy before he bought it, Loki, the ring’s schematics, and then a conglomeration of the three. Four separate spreads. Test the magic-users in order of power ranking, lowest to highest, and filter by power type. Let’s see if we can get some competition up in here.”

“ _Yes, sir. And might I point out that this will constitute more than a few slides?_.”

Tony glared up at empty air in mock offense. “Hey. You’re here to assist, not to nag. I’ll eat a quesadilla when I want to eat a quesadilla.”

“ _Of course, sir_.”

He had the test results to look through anyway. Just because none of the devices had broken through in the simulation, didn’t mean one of them hadn’t had an effect. If there was something there, anything he could augment, Tony would find it. “Pull up the readings from the explosives experiments. And make the graphs shiny with pretty colors, JARVIS. Everything’s starting to look the same.”

They zipped into position in front of him, and he half-frowned at them. Well, that wasn’t good. The simulated Beauregard he’d been using to represent possible captives was either ash, goo, or a fish fry depending on the slide. Clearly, there were some issues that needed addressing. He wasn’t going to be doing anyone any favors if his safety measures were actually lethal measures.

Tony picked the ring up from where it was sitting on the table, turning it over in his hand and watching Bo chase a rune as it cycled across the gem’s surface.

Trust Loki to make a message into a piece of artwork and a puzzle, the perfect memento for a guy with a mind like Tony’s.

“Loki…” he muttered absently. “How the hell do you think?”

He had plans to talk to Thor at the next reasonable mealtime (lunch tomorrow, Tony decided after checking the time), and he wanted to have some progress to talk about hand-in-hand with the story of what had happened at the beach. Tony was a firm believer in serving bad news with good news. At the rate he was going, though, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Has Steve tempted you with quesadillas yet?”

Tony yelped. “Dammit, Bruce! We already have Natasha and Clint! You don’t have to be a ninja too, don’t be that way!”

“Sorry,” Bruce said as he slid onto the bench next to him, and he didn’t sound sorry at all, the jerk. “How goes the research?”

“Shitty,” Tony grumbled, returning to his slouch, the way things should be. “I keep hitting walls. JARVIS is running some new tests. I’m reviewing data.”

“Then I’m not interrupting anything too ground-breaking.” Bruce’s was even-toned, friendly, but Tony wasn’t fooled for a second.

His fingertips faltered over a diagram. “Oh, no. This is going to be that conversation you promised me, isn’t it.”

Bruce rested his chin on a hand and looked at him expectantly.

Eyes cast to the ceiling, Tony pointed at Bruce. “JARVIS, why did you let him in here?”

“ _He knocked, sir._ ”

“JARVIS…” he whined in his brattiest falsetto.

“ _You know very well that tone doesn’t work on me._ ”

“If you two are finished…” There was a tiny smile thinking of happening on Bruce’s mouth, but it was hampered by the solemnity of the rest of his expression. “I’d like to have that talk.”

“Uh-huh, um…” Tony tapped distractedly at a screen in front of him. His mind was blanking in a highly inconvenient fashion, from the subject as much as from Bruce watching him. There was no bullshitting his way out of this one. Bruce wasn’t having it. What would have been helpful is if he hadn’t spent the last two days concentrating on everything except seeing Loki on that beach. He’d been avoiding it like a perilous, emotional plague. He wasn’t sure yet what kind of minefield he’d been dropped into when he’d saved Loki in the Solomon Isles, just that he had been, and instead of calling for an extraction like a smart person, he was walking further in.

Sensing that Tony needed some time, Bruce turned to the readings hovering in front of him and began to rummage through them, making notes in the margins and just generally being an awesome guy. “JARVIS, can you filter this by types of ammunition, please?”

“ _Yes, Dr. Banner._ ”

“Thank you.”

They worked in silence, side-by-side for half an hour before Tony said, “He was upset, Bruce.”

Bruce angled his body slightly towards him on the bench, non-pressuring, nothing in his manner suggesting anything other than support. “I’d ask if you had any guesses as to what he was upset about,” he started carefully. “But I think the revelation here is that his being upset, upset you.” When Tony frowned, Bruce continued before he could be interrupted. “I could see it when we spoke on the boat. At first I thought you were unnerved, but I think I misunderstood what you were unnerved about.” A pause. “It’s… more difficult when we’re reminded our villains are people, isn’t it?”

That made it hard to breathe. “I think he was scared.” Tony’s voice was nearly a whisper, neither a denial nor an affirmation. God, he wasn’t good at this, why did he have to be so damn observant when he had no idea what to do with the details? He struggled over saying the next part, but if he was going to be honest, it needed to happen. Besides, this was Bruce. Bruce was… Bruce was Bruce. His friend. “He looked the way I do when I have a nightmare.”

There was a soft hum of comprehension, and Tony braced himself before Bruce spoke. “Your friend’s brother appears to you, possibly vulnerable and possibly desperate, and you see something familiar. He asks you to talk, and right then, the request doesn’t seem like much to ask.”

“Yeah.” It came out dry. He swallowed, thought of Loki’s blood in sunlit water and disembodied footprints. “I… can’t help thinking that he’s dangerous, but that dangerous isn’t all he is, you know? He’s more than the revenge-obsessed bastard we see so much of, and just _look at this_.” Tony picked up the ring, held it out where Bruce could see. “The guy’s a genius. Brain like his? No, he’s not just a villain. He is one, but that isn’t all.”

“You want to know,” Bruce perceived, each syllable carved cautiously from what he knew was the truth.

“Of course I do,” Tony laughed, a hair short of manic. “Have you met me?”

Bruce hesitated over something.

Tony reached out and placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Look… I’m not going to endanger anyone, okay? I know where the lines are, and this is one I’m not going to smudge out and redraw. I get it. This is…” The displayed data glittered around them, and Tony took it all in before smiling at Bruce. “This is just me figuring out where someone stands. Okay?”

“I trust you.” When he said it like that, it was like Bruce was confiding a secret. “I have for a while. If anyone can… _figure out_ Loki, I think it’s you.” He shook his head, and Tony thought his expression was kinda sad. “And I know you’d never put people in danger to do it. It’s not people I’m worried about. It’s you.” Bruce looked Tony in the eyes and pinned him there, just like he’d said he would. “When you start empathizing with someone, you’re an all-in kind of guy. You don’t think that’s true, but it is. You try to blow it off and pretend it’s not there, but, Tony, you’re _bad at faking it_.”

“Yeah, I’m uh…” Tony ducked his head to the side, broke the eye contact. “I’m figuring that out too.”

Bruce lifted a hand and mirrored Tony’s grip by placing it on Tony’s opposite shoulder. “That being said, I’ll be here. We all will.” He paused again, and it was lacking in self-confidence in a way that made Tony want to be a hugger. “You know that, right?”

“I _am_ a genius,” Tony confirmed with a small smile that finally coaxed a twin one from Bruce. “I know how to understand the evidence.”

Then they shifted uncomfortably, and sharing time was over. Bruce asked about the tests JARVIS was running, and Tony walked him through some of his theories, extrapolating in depth on the level of frustration he had at magic and its rulelessness. 

Several hours later, they were still sorting through the data, and a plate of quesadillas appeared in the lab. JARVIS told them it was Natasha, and for a brief span of time, they took a break to fathom how the hell she’d gotten in and out with a steaming dinner plate smelling of quesadillas without either of them noticing.

\---  
\----  
\---

He supposed he could have gone to Victor for the answers he was looking for. The man was well-versed in Midgard’s magics and lore, and whatever he could not recall directly, he would no doubt have readily available in a book in his possession. What stopped Loki from seeking out his ally in this matter what the potential for vulnerability. As of yet, Loki still did not understand the purpose of his prophetic dreams. He could not afford for Victor to sense his concern. There were many things Loki would trust Victor with. His life and future were not among them. This information he would glean on his own. It was undeniably the safest route.

“That isn’t a true will-o’-the-wisp.”

Loki remained utterly still, without reaction, his eyes locked on the glimmering point of light through the trees. When he’d first seen it in the falling dusk, it had sent cold shock through his veins, but in the passing hours, they’d become numb. “Yes, I am aware of the process behind the natural phenomenon.” He reached out with his magic, testing the air around the stranger. What he’d expected to find was a human. Instead, he found a being his magic deemed no different than the surrounding trees, the surrounding earth. It was familiar, and for a moment, Loki struggled to place it through his preoccupation. Then he remembered: the reticent brunette that haunted Victor’s side, the boy he’d called Latveria. Ah, at present time, he was searching the forests of Great Britain. “And which brother might you be?”

“England.” The voice was calm, self-possessed; he obviously didn’t know who he was approaching.

“Your kind are referred to as nations, correct?”

“One name of many, but yes,” England answered.

“And you are a sorcerer in addition to this.” Loki half-turned towards him, took in the moonlit, unassuming vessel of Midgard standing in casual business attire on the farm road. “Why are you here?”

“That was going to be my question to you.” England surveyed him vigilantly, and Loki could see in the steely resolve of his face that he’d measured how very outmatched he would be should they come to blows. 

Loki gave him his best smile; it was one that bought him few friends but a great many followers. “You’ll find that when I pose a question, it’s best to answer.”

“Then I will answer with asking,” England returned with a bow of the head that was not respectful so much as indulgent. Intuitively, Loki knew he would be killing this one before the night was through. The nation met his eyes and held the stare longer than most. “There was a time when I could sense every enemy that crossed into my borders. That is an ability that has been lost to me in past centuries due to the vast increase in population. And yet, two hours ago, and on scattered occasions before, I sensed you. That speaks to me of your power. I know who you are and the potential threat you represent, so I will ask… What is your purpose in appearing here?”

“The… _will-o’-the-wisp_ , as you said.” Loki’s voice took on the tone that had been developed from more than life as a royal but revealed that truth all the same. Why search for lore of the land when he could put forward his queries to the land itself? “What purpose does it serve?”

“They lead people from their path, cause them to become lost.” There was a glimpse of England’s teeth in the moonlight, too brief and too reminiscent of danger to be a smile. Yes, Loki would be killing this one. “Frequently, these people die. Will-o’-the-wisps have been banished from our plane, however. Now, they are restricted to dreams.” England observed him with the air of a creature accustomed to taking in every detail. “Have you been dreaming, Loki?”

“They are malevolent, then?” Loki demanded over the top of England’s final question.

For some reason, that seemed to amuse him. “Most often, but not always. It depends on whether they are acting alone or if another creature is bearing them.”

“I see…” Loki looked to the sky, an embodiment of relaxed contemplation. “That will be all then.”

England made no noise save for a surprised breath when Loki teleported behind him and pierced his kidney with one blade while severing his spine with another. Blood pulsed out from the wounds and pooled with a pleasant warmth in Loki’s hands. There was something odd in his lack of resistance, but the fatality of the injuries was incontestable. Shock, perhaps, and of no matter now.

“You should have brought one of your armies the moment I set foot on your soil,” Loki murmured into his ear before using the bite of the knives to lower the dying man to the ground. At the last, he knocked England’s body forward, and the weight pulled it wetly off of the blades and onto the dirt road. 

Stepping over the corpse in the making, Loki approached the treeline and the light. 

There was no denying the lack of magic, but it was possible that proximity to it would give new inspiration. Beneath that thought, there lay a chill that did its best to transpose a different forest atop the truth. Loki attempted to shake its hold, annoyed at the persistence, but it maintained the constant pressure in the back of his mind. He passed through the trees in a downward slope. _Fear_ , misplaced and illogical… It was infuriating that it had such a grip on him. There was no sense to it, no reason whatsoever for each step to fill him with this feeling of foreboding. Warped limbs criss-crossed the night sky overhead, and he drove away the imagined breadth of fingers. He grit his teeth, sneered at the pointlessness of it, and came to a stop halfway there. England had said the nature of the will-o’-the-wisp could depend on the nature of something that carried it. 

The skeleton, then. That was quite possibly the answer to this.

If that was the case, there was no motive to continue any further.

Loki turned back, climbed the soft incline of the hill. When he slept tonight, he would question the skeleton further. He had both the blessing and the curse of retaining his faculties during a dream. It would take little effort to keep a log of his conversations with the skeleton after he awoke. Even with the restriction of yes and no answers, Loki had faith in his ability to expose the truth. Given enough time, he would unravel the prophecy, and in so doing, diminish its hold over him.

As he reached the road, Loki was presented with a momentarily confusing sight.

England stood, leaning against a wooden fence, framed by the pasture beyond.

“Ah.” Loki raked his eyes over him curiously. There was blood soaking through his clothes, but otherwise… “The degree of your race’s immortality is not exaggerated then.”

“Not in regards to a stabbing, no.” England smiled crookedly.

“How interesting…” Loki approached him, the possibilities multiplying in his head every second. “Your healing capabilities must be tied to your land, perhaps the legitimacy of your government. I wonder, if you were imprisoned without connection to either for a great period of time, if---”

“That is an experiment that has already been done,” England interjected, words dry, clipped. “Do you have the answers you’ve come here for?”

“So sorry, have I overstayed my welcome?” Loki asked with a false smile and all of the mock civility he’d learned from the inhabitants of Asgard’s palace. “I suppose killing you would have been the proper time for a goodbye. It must be taxing to wake up after death and find your attacker still present.” He feigned an expression of sudden intrigue, as though a thought had just occurred. “Oh my, what must torture be like for you?”

“Repetitive,” England replied without pause. “Are you quite through?”

Loki laughed, and he both saw and savored the instinctual flinch. “Hardly.”

“You mentioned my armies earlier.” A warning tone crept into England’s voice from where it had previously been concealed beneath a gentleman’s veneer. “It would take very little for me to call a military presence to me, and I know from certain footage that you can be overwhelmed. Or shall I put in a call to New York? I had not done so because I believed we could reach an understanding without resorting to such measures.” Loki got a glimpse of the fighter this man must be when the business dress was stripped away. “Was I mistaken?”

“My actions towards you will depend entirely on whether or not you have anything to offer me.”

England arched an eyebrow at him. “Really? I seem to remember being stabbed on the last occasion I provided information. Which would have been---” he made a point of checking his watch, “---seven minutes ago.”

“You weren’t interesting seven minutes ago.” The sheer potential of it, the spectrum of experiments he’d could perform… He was always searching for new hobbies. The characteristics of immortality in relation to land and population personified sounded like the beginning of a rewarding research project. In all likelihood, his tenure on Midgard would be long-lived. It couldn’t hurt to understand the nuances. “What I require at present time is information regarding the supernatural inhabitants of Midgard. Now, I am wondering where best to find those answers than from one of that number.” Loki stepped closer, measuring reaction speed, gauging what other abilities England might possess. Magic peppered him like dust, but Loki imagined that if it were specialized for battle, he would have experienced retaliation. “How do you exist?”

“You aren’t going to garner cooperation or answers from me with threats on a country road.” England took his own step forward, bringing himself nearer to Loki. Brave, then. He reached into his jacket, and instead of the futile weapon Loki had been expecting, a business card was offered. Rather than typeset, there were neat lines of handwriting. “My phone number. My home address. Transport inside the house, not into the neighborhood. I have wards that I trust to protect the nearby populace.” As Loki extended a hand to take it, England maintained the grip briefly. “I am tired of sensing you using my land as a travel point into the rest of Europe, and I am tired of wondering when you will stay long enough to do damage. This will be a business transaction, not freely given.”

Loki used his smile with the same sharpness as his knives. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Give me what I am looking for, and I will leave your land and your people unharmed.” For the duration of his ventures involving the prophecy, at least. There would be benefits of having a contact that was not beholden to any of Midgard’s alliances between villains. And if England leaked any of their conversations to other powers, well… Loki knew how to retaliate.

A challenging smirk coiled the corner of England’s mouth. “I notice I am not included in those to be unharmed.”

“Not all my questions would be answered if you were, and you haven’t given a word to my safety either.” Loki spread his hands, giving off the impression of a man who was accommodating with every fraction of posture save for expression. “The question you must ask yourself is whether the price matches the worth.”

“You are not the first dangerous being I’ll have made that deal with.” Silence overtook the stretch of road for a brief period. “Can you understand what it is like to be able to sense that a danger is present, while knowing that you are utterly powerless to affect it in any way? To hold your breath until it passes and pray the people you’ve sworn to protect don’t suffer for it?” England glanced briefly to the horizon, eyes seeming to catch on the entirety of the scene; Loki wondered what he was seeing in his reflection. “I could fight you with armies and weapons. I may even be able to kill you, eventually. But the loss of life? That I’d have no hope to change. Not with force.” He turned to search Loki’s face. “I will not expect you to maintain a promise not to attack me ---my land, my people--- anymore than I would request for a crow to breathe under water. I will, however, ask that you announce your purpose when you arrive within my borders. On this occasion, you’ve come here for the sake of research. I imagine you won’t be surprised for me to tell you that research wasn’t my first thought.”

Loki sneered. “Every innocuous movement I make on this island sets you on edge.”

“To put it lightly,” England conceded. “And the best thing in the world for nerves on edge, save for alcohol, is assurance.” He brushed away some of the dirt that had caked on his blood-soaked shirt. “Give me the courtesy of knowing, one way or the other.”

“Inform you when my intentions are peaceful and when they are otherwise. That is what you’d have of me?” Loki considered it. It wasn’t as if a warning would be much of a service to England if Loki truly had his mind set on destruction, and when he was simply passing through, there was nothing lost in saying so. The condition was an insolent one to make, but Loki foresaw every opportunity to refine England’s understanding of their respective positions. “Very well. I will agree to that.”

“Then I can help you.” England sank his hands into his pockets, dirt and blood on the skin and beneath his fingernails. “I’ll answer your questions as long as I don’t anticipate those answers being used for plans of domination.”

“Of course.” Loki’s eyes glinted with humor that England would be wary of if he had aspirations of good health. “I’d never dream of presenting you with a conflict of interest.”

“Ah, your first lie to me.” England flashed a smile to the treeline before he turned it on Loki. “And on that note, my car is down the road, and I have a scheduled meeting with a pint that I’d be sorry to miss.”

Sweeping an arm to indicate the direction England’s glance had gone, the angle of Loki’s head took a mocking tilt. “By all means, don’t let me keep you.”

“Until next time then.” England nodded to him, turned his back, and began to walk down the road. It was tempting, for a moment, to take advantage of the blatant test of Loki’s predatory reaction, but he did not. The nation needed to learn Loki was not so predictable as that.

Loki watched until he was out of sight before he centered his magic and his body with it. 

The first jump left him hanging over the air in the Atlantic, and as he fell, the second jump placed him in equally empty air thick with ocean spray, as did the third, fourth, and fifth, until finally the sixth found his feet comfortably on solid ground in Cape Cod with a soft exhalation of breath. The last leap brought him to Brooklyn.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment with his thoughts tracking the possible symbolism of the will-o’-the-wisp. The obvious implication was his being directed from his current goals, but it was never wise to make assumptions about prophecies. Those were inevitably the occasions when the word _prophecy_ became preceded by _self-fulfilling_ , and Loki was far too experienced in these matters to be mired in the errors of fools.

The elderly man who lived in the apartment across from him passed him in the hall, carrying a normally docile dog that bared its teeth and growled at Loki. Animals had developed that intelligence of late, he’d discovered. His suspicion was that it had something to do with his delving into darker powers, but he hadn’t had the time to examine the theory. He smiled pleasantly at the man, playing the part of a genial neighbor, his features blurred into a face just different enough for him to be unrecognizable. The elderly man lifted an arthritic hand in a wave and continued on, taking his small, curiously angry dog with him.

Loki unlocked his door and pushed into his apartment, intending to have a meal and to get some sleep. 

Those intentions were momentarily derailed by what he found on his television when he changed the channel to a news network. The Avengers were fighting on screen, and the caption read _happening now_. Loki settled in for dinner and a show.

Night was the largest fraction of the scenery. It was difficult to tell what the camera was attempting to focus on until a spotlight from a helicopter opposite the one carrying the news crew landed upon a large creature far below. The first impression was one of legs, bent and stretching across the depicted Tennessee farmland, scratching ditches filled with shadow in the soil. When a second spotlight joined the first, the body became apparent. The spider was massive, taking up the entirety of the screen, and it was the same color as the sky, seeming to become invisible where it extended above the trees.

A flicker of light hovered above it, and Loki’s mind supplied _Iron Man_. Stark fired a blast of the strange energy emitted by his suit, and a geyser of dark blood punctuated by another, phosphorescent substance appeared in the spotlight and disappeared but for a green ribbon-like glow in its absence. Any audience watching the program was only seeing half of the play, the rest eaten by the darkness. One of the spider’s limbs must have struck Stark in retaliation, because a blue-white beacon shot abruptly to the side like a falling meteor, slamming into the dirt. Immediately after, a column of lightening jolted downwards towards the spider’s back. It tensed and fell, a giant toppled.

Three spotlights illuminated its spasming body and gave the light necessary to see when the Hulk plowed into its side. His body was momentarily engulfed by the puckering wound until he roared and removed himself. The two assassins peppered its writhing form with ammunition in the same moment that Rogers plunged a fist into its head.

All of these events subsequent to the lightening happened within the span of seconds.

Loki absorbed the scene and rose slowly to his feet, eyes transfixed on the proceedings. “It bursts as though already rotten…” he murmured, recognizing the truth the monster guarded. “They are battling a creature already consigned to death. It does not think itself alive, only a hatchery.”

The words had barely left his mouth before the green glow glittering in its blood became manifest in a cascade as a segment of its body melted through as though touched by acid. From that gaping hole came a storm, a sea of smaller bodies, coated in the phosphorescence, swarming across the ground to overtake the gathered heroes and their array of soldiers. The reporter covering the story cried out, and the spotlights spun in dizzying circles as the people manning them tried to choose where to concentrate their beams. Where previously there had been a sense of impending victory, there was panic.

A laugh tore itself from his throat. Panic was something he could enjoy, and he coolly searched the information displayed below the live feed. At the corner of the screen was a map, illustrating where the fight was taking place. In his mind, he drew a line between his current position and the town indicated. His lab needed a guardian, and perhaps one of the spider’s get could be trained for the undertaking. If not, surely it would make for an interesting ingredient. A creature such as that had value, if Loki’s suspicions were true. It was so kind of the Avengers to find these things for him.

He took the first leap. On a crowded street, he swathed himself in shadow and took the second.

It was enough to bring him within sight of the chaos.

It was enough to bring him within reach of Tony Stark half-buried beneath the swarm.


	4. Anomaly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! Bad weather and a hectic week didn't give me much opportunity to write. It should get back to the once-a-week schedule now.

It was immediately apparent that Tony Stark was unconscious. His armor was utterly still and buried beneath the investigating newly-born spiders, and that was probably for the best. If they had sensed life, they would have attacked, Loki was certain of it. A portion of the phosphorescent, green substance fell from the fangs of one and onto the ground beside the suit. It hissed through the soil, acidic. Loki tensed, watching, blending with the scenery and unnoticed as of yet. The likelihood that he would soon witness the death of one of the Avengers seemed imminent. Admittedly, it was not the death he would have chosen for Stark. Faced with the possibility, Loki felt distaste where it hadn’t previously occurred to him to feel it. In his mental ranking of the Avengers, he did place Stark near the top in regards to personal interest. He had no particular feeling one way or the other for the majority of the specimens SHIELD had presented him, but Stark and Banner were two that he would have liked to dispatch personally, and perhaps Barton and Romanov if convenient, for the sake of history. It was a waste for Stark to be felled by beasts such as these. He was one of a very small number of humans whose intelligence Loki considered above that of primordial slime.

Loki ventured closer and thickened his cloak, masked noise and scent in addition to sight. The young spiders were curious things, their bodies the length of his forearm and a deep black that upon closer inspection didn’t reflect light, not even that of the strange glow lacing their venom. As Loki drew nearer, they parted around him, but did not attack. They sensed the film of magic, perhaps, and registered it as a barrier. Experimentally, Loki broadened the cloak. Fanning out around him at an infinitesimal rate, the magic continued to act as a repellant.

If he so desired, Loki believed he could widen it to include Stark.

Lightening crashed, but Thor was a distance down the road, possibly seeking to create a perimeter. Judging from their absence, the majority of the military presence must have had the same thought. In fact, the only combatants within Loki’s direct sight were Rogers and the Hulk, and they were far removed. If they had recognized Stark’s predicament, they were too overwhelmed by their quarry to reach him. Loki smiled. Oh, any _number_ things could happen to Stark while they were gone.

Loki returned his attention to his position standing over the fallen Avenger. As he watched, one of the spiders scurried up the wall of dirt left by Stark’s impact to escape the field of magic and found itself buried by the loose soil. When it pressed up through the dirt, Loki’s mind caught and froze momentarily. The movement looked very similar the dead things in his dream, pushing their way to air from beneath the forest path. Loki rushed forward under the yoke of panic and put a dagger point through it before the action had been fully processed by any logic. Its brothers and sisters were rebounded by his screen of magic, but they were aware now; he’d moved too quickly, and they’d witnessed a sibling being killed by something unseen.

A noise went up amongst them, rattling, continuous. With forced calm, Loki collected the corpse of the one he’d slain inside a parcel that would resist the acid and discarded his ruined knife with it. He tied the bag closed and fastened it in its place at his belt. The spiders were encircling him now, but they still hesitated at the edge of dome he’d made of his cloak. Loki rejected them as a cause for concern. His eyes fell on Stark once more. Honestly, the man was lucky Loki had chosen to investigate the creatures and that a number of his planned manipulations required Stark to be among the living. When Loki extended the cloak to account for the armor, the sensation was of an afterthought, as though he’d called up an extra bit of magic that would have gone to waste otherwise. One by one, the shadowed shapes scurried off of the suit, their legs clicking over the metal.

The acid had not eaten through completely. Some protective internal layer had spared Stark that much, but there were cleanly-approximated, misshapen holes littering the plates from where the acid had tried. Loki detachedly catalogued the damage and found himself curious as to what had make the mother spider’s attack different from any other that Stark would be rendered unconscious. He was still unhealed from the Cherufe, perhaps, and Loki supposed he had struck him rather hard on the beach. Nothing that the man hadn’t deserved, of course. It was strange, though, that a man so fragile in his own skin would insist on incessantly fighting these battles. Stark and the two assassins were shining monuments to their species’ capacity for shortsightedness, nevermind their skill. From what Loki had seen, it was something Thor admired in these individuals: their ability to acknowledge their lifespans and then voluntarily risk burning through that time so quickly. It was yet another trait he and Thor did not share.

Loki nudged the armor with a boot and watched for any indication of Stark stirring. There was none. He might as well have spared the life of sheet metal. Like this, there was no visible difference between Stark’s armor and any other warrior’s. That wasn’t entirely true though, was it? As the thought occurred, Loki lowered himself at Stark’s side. His voice was pitched low, smooth under the current of surrounding battle, but he knew he would be heard. “I know that Stark is not the only being inhabiting this armor. I’d like to leave a message.” He leaned down, whispered. “I gave you a ring, Stark. I’m curious to see what you will give me.”

So saying, he straightened, stood, and surveyed the surrounding spiders once more, searching for a satisfactory specimen. Loki fixated on one of the smaller spiders, a runt, vying tenaciously for a position in front of its siblings. Hopefully the discrepancy between its current size compared to the others would be indicative of a similar difference in adulthood. Hiding a giant spider was achievable, but Loki wasn’t going to shirk any help in the matter. Decision made, he sent out two tendrils of magic, offshoots of his cloak, and surrounded the spider, pulling it in closer with its refusal to cross through the current. Bringing it to settle, stunned, in Loki’s arms took barely any time at all.

He had a corpse for spell ingredients, a guard in the making, and the seeds of some future entertainment planted. Asking for more would just be greedy. His eyes surveyed Stark a final time. When he left, there would be nothing to keep the spiders from returning to their vacated positions. Judging from the look of the armor, the resistance to the acid was not a permanent affair. It was an inconvenient but not unavoidable conclusion. Loki made an abrupt decision, lifted a hand, and sent a small dart of force towards the rampaging mayhem that was the Hulk. The beast was struck in the back of the head, and turned in Loki’s direction with a snarl, arms still windmilling spiders away from himself.

Hulk caught sight of Stark, and that was all Loki needed to encourage his departure.

\---  
\----  
\---

Tony opened his eyes, and JARVIS exhibited his love by not turning on the lights, not letting the sun through the windows, and speaking at a low volume. “ _It is good to see you awake, sir. The time is 11:00 am, and the day is Tuesday._ ”

“How long was I…?” Tony croaked. His throat was uncomfortably dry.

“ _You regained consciousness shortly after the battle’s conclusion at midnight, but fell asleep during your transfer to the jet. You do not have a concussion or any grave injuries to note. I advise against movement, however, due to the stress on your ribs._ ”

“Okay, so, so _why_ …” he tried to articulate and failed, but JARVIS got the gist.

“ _The original spider had venom in its blood, which was coating the leg that came in contact with the suit._ ” Unless Tony’s brain had skewed some key points from last night, ‘came in contact with’ was JARVIS speak for ‘knocked the shit out of’. “ _I was able to prevent it from piercing the suit completely, but I required several seconds to filter the resulting fumes. During those seconds, it mixed with your air supply. The armor has suffered significant damage from acid exposure, as well._ ”

“Kinda sorta poisoned,” Tony grumbled into his pillow as he turned his head. “Great.” His eyes found the glass of water at his bedside. When he lifted his hand to take it, his arm felt like lead, but it was worth it for the way the water felt when he took a gulp. He forced himself to go slow. The angle he needed to swallow had been somewhat achieved by whatever sweet soul had stacked his pillows, but his ribs were the brand of injured that meant even breathing hurt. Heaven forbid he need to do things like adjust.

“ _There is one other matter of interest, sir._ ”

“Oh?” Tony prompted around the rim of the glass.

“ _A message was left for you while you were unconscious._ ”

That earned a frown. “You said I was only unconscious during the battle.”

“ _The message was left during the battle, sir._ ”

He really, _really_ wanted to jolt upright dramatically. This was an announcement that warranted jolting upright dramatically, and possibly standing, and other non-bedridden things. His team wouldn’t need to leave a message in the middle of a fight. They’d just wait for him to wake up. “Excuse me? No, nevermind, we’ll skip the surprised phase.” Tony snapped his fingers at the screen across from his bed. “Bring it up. And I want video feed too, whatever was happening at that time.”

In front of him, the screen came to life, reflecting the scene from behind the suit’s eyes. Soon after, it fractured off into six other views from different positions, along the chest, the back, in the joints. The one at his back was black for obvious reasons. Otherwise, varying degrees of a vista of sky and walls of dirt was all he had for a moment, and then something crawled over multiple cameras, and Tony got the idea. He was covered in the spiders. Oh, that was creepy, he was so glad he was unconscious right then, fuck that.

For several long seconds, that’s all there was: visual and audio of being scurried over by freaky spider babies.

Then they left, and half a breath later, the camera in an arm of the suit moved anyway.

Tony blinked at the screen. “Wait. Huh? JARVIS, what in the hell---”

“ _I know that Stark is not the only being inhabiting this armor. I’d like to leave a message._ ”

The question that Tony had been about to ask, died. Cold recognition washed over him, and it took the pain he felt when his body tensed to ground him.

“ _I gave you a ring, Stark,_ ” Loki’s voice went on, and Tony forgot to breathe. “ _I’m curious to see what you will give me._ ”

JARVIS paused the screens. “ _That is the conclusion of the message, sir._ ”

His pulse was hammering out a dissertation on all the reasons he was unnerved. “Son of a bitch,” Tony swore softly. He tipped his head back, watched the ceiling, thoughts whirring. Had he just gotten his ass saved by Loki? Christ, he had. He totally had. That could be very, very bad. Quick fire, Tony hashed out the different scenarios. The most immediately worrying was the implications should Fury find out. Except, that wasn’t a worry, not really. Fury could, and did, say a lot of things about Tony, but at the core of it, they could read each other pretty damn well. Tony doubted Fury would come to the conclusion that he and Loki had some sort of behind-the-scenes-arrangement. Of course, that accusation didn’t have to be entirely true. Just because Tony wasn’t aware of any plans Loki had concerning him, it didn’t mean they didn’t exist. And what other reason would Loki have to help an Avenger other than preserving an investment?

Crap, what was he going to make for an alien god supervillain?

Scratch that, the clear answer was _nothing_. Tony mulled that over for a second. “Damn, I’m actually going to make him something, aren’t I?” He thought about it. “Yep.”

“ _It would be inadvisable to---_ ”

“JARVIS, Loki basically just challenged me to invent something cool,” Tony interrupted with a lop-sided smile that gave him the first indication that pain meds might have been a thing in his recent past. “Does that sound like the sort of thing that I, Tony Stark, can ignore without creating a universe-devouring paradox?” There’d be limitations, of course. He wouldn’t give Loki anything that he could foresee being used against him or others. It would need to be safe, something that couldn’t be weaponized or used to help him become an even bigger threat.

A long pause. “ _Universe-devouring paradox is perhaps hyperbole._ ”

“That isn’t a no.”

“ _Understood, sir. Mr. Barton is approaching your room._ ”

“Shut off the recordings,” Tony said hurriedly, and nearly did sit up before he mercifully remembered. He was so not ready to have that conversation yet. That conversation definitely had a ‘group meeting’ feel to it. Specifically, a group meeting in which there was a variety of opinions instead of just the one that he knew Clint would have.

Clint did the universal knock of a person who thought whoever was in the next room might be asleep. When Tony called out to him, he opened the door and ducked his head in. “How are you feeling? Keeping in mind we already have a Spiderman, and putting another one in armor seems like overkill.”

“Non-spidery but thirsty,” Tony answered truthfully. “Can you, uh…?”

There was an expressive eye-roll, but he answered with, “Yeah, sure.” Clint caught the glass when Tony tossed it to him, and then disappeared into the bathroom to get some water out of the tap. When he came out again, he handed it over to Tony and took the chair that had been pulled closer to the bed from its usual position cattycorner to the window. Tony guessed Clint was the next in a line of people checking up on him. “So, basically all you’ve missed was us learning that momma spider was an alien whose race gives birth on random planets so their babies can have snacks.”

“Well, this local cuisine didn’t agree with them,” Tony grumbled as he took a few satisfying gulps. “Let’s hope they strike it off the nursery list. Did we get them all?”

“Looks like it.”

There was a lapse in the conversation, if ‘lapse’ could also be used to describe a silence just awkward enough to be noticeable but not awkward enough to make Tony start fidgeting and looking for escape routes. Besides, an escape attempt would probably hurt. He should make a motorized bed. Bumper beds, he could totally make bumper beds, and those would be the best commercial double entendres ever.

“How’s the progress on the ring?” Clint redirected in that way that meant he’d sensed a rant coming and wanted to head it off at the pass.

“Disappointing.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, winced, and then laid them flat at his sides. “But in an educational way. I haven’t figured out how to break the dome from the inside yet, but I’ll get there. Right now I’m trying to see if I can isolate whatever lets it sap magic.”

Clint nodded. “I can see where that would be useful.”

“Hell, maybe we could get one of your arrows to do the same trick.”

That earned a rare non-sarcastic eyebrow lift. “I wouldn’t turn that down.”

Tony laughed and instantly regretted it, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain that woke up to do a nice stretch. He recovered hastily, covered with, “I wouldn’t be friends with a guy that could turn down a magic-eating arrow.”

“It’s nice to know you appreciate my finer qualities,” Clint quipped cockily. “Anyway, I left Natasha and Steve in the sparring room, so…”

He raised one hand to make a shooing motion. “Go be scary, I’m fine. Tell the others I’m still groggy and want to sleep some more, so everyone definitely shouldn’t rush in here with well-wishes all at once.”

“Nix the awkward conversations. Got it.” Clint stood and left without any fanfare, and Tony was grateful for it.

He waited for several minutes before asking JARVIS to bring the screens back online. After the first few replays, he muted the audio. Hearing Loki’s voice, in that register, murmured right into the speaker, was not making it easier for Tony to think. Loki took the whole villain-with-a-sexy-voice cliché to an entirely unnecessary level. There was close to sixty seconds worth of video that Tony thought might be relevant, and he watched it on repeat until his eyes swam. Somewhere in that clip, there was a clue, and he was going to find it. Loki was nearby. There’d be a tell. If he could just determine how Loki did that whole invisibility thing, if he could find a place where the illusion didn’t match up… that could make a hell of a difference. When the screen started to blur in his vision, he took a break to call Pepper and let her know he was awake and okay, that it was just his ribs and there wasn’t much to be done except to wrap them, close his eyes, and make a wish. She invited him to lunch that Friday, and he agreed to gather a list of proposed restaurants that might meet her muster.

Feeling revitalized by her challenging laugh, Tony went back to work. Close to the three-hour mark, Thor brought him a plate of toast and bacon that, judging from the crispyness, the chocolate added to the jam, and the time of day, Thor had put together himself. Tony’s stomach lurched with nausea that must have been a leftover present from the poison, but he met his teammate grin for grin, and accepted the plate happily. Thor asked him what he was working on, and Tony laid out a half-truth of studying game play. He hadn’t even told Thor about the beach yet. The conversations they needed to have were starting to pile up, but now wasn’t the time either. Maybe later over dinner, but not until he could lay out all the facts. The problem, Tony admitted, was that there didn’t seem to be a stop to it. They weren’t getting any slack, and Loki kept appearing. If Tony didn’t start talking to Thor as it happened, there wasn’t going to be any catching up.

It was about twenty minutes following Thor’s boisterous departure that Tony found what he was looking for.

Tony’s brow furrowed. “Hold on… JARVIS, pause screen 3.” The screen stilled, and the anomaly that Tony had seen became more apparent. There was a faint patch of white against the backdrop in the moments before Loki had approached the suit. “Zoom in right there,” he indicated. Tony stared. “Does that… Shit, does that look like an arm to you? Only… whoa.” There was no getting around it. Somehow in a small fraction of the screen, Tony was looking at trees and sky that didn’t match the surrounding scenery, as if a stray piece of film had transposed itself over the rest. The anomaly lasted over a mere three seconds, but it was enough to make out thin, pale limbs scrabbling through the inexplicably foreign depiction of trees. It could have been mud dotting the translucent skin, but an instinctive cord of fear in Tony’s chest told him it probably wasn’t. “Isolate it. Put it on repeat.”

He watched the clip half a dozen times before he accepted what he was seeing. The nearest thing he could compare it to was watching a clip from a movie on the screen of someone’s phone. But without the phone, or a screen, or someone to show it, or to have it be shown to. Tony considered that maybe the wide plane of the farm they’d been fighting on had fucked with a sense of proportion, but that wasn’t right either. He lined the view up with backlit clouds in the sky overhead, and he could still see several of the spiders in relation to it. The hovering mini-movie was _tiny_ , and out of nowhere. At least three bodies were shown, but they were… wrong. That was the only word Tony could think of for it. They bent wrong, moved wrong.

Tony was so distracted by them that he almost missed the details of the trees when JARVIS enlarged the view. “Holy fuck…” he breathed. “Those aren’t leaves. Those are hands.”

Three seconds, just a measly three seconds, but it was a _terrifying_ three seconds. And it happened in a place that it was highly probable Loki was standing.

His brain put it together in that concise, neat way that won him awards, accolades, and a hell of a lot of trouble.

\---  
\----  
\---

Damson had adjusted quickly and well to her new life, choosing an empty sconce deprived of a lamp as her home inside the Denver lab. There was a certain, wise amount of self-preservation exhibited in her ready acquiescence to Loki’s command. The spider watched without reaction as Loki enspelled her sibling’s corpse with preservatives and no longer struggled against the veil of magic that Loki had used to subdue her. There was a deep purple sheen beneath the black of her body that gave one the impression of space, and its refusal to reflect light made that corner of shadow more pronounced as Loki worked. The needle-fine stab of a reminder called up an unsettling set of memories that Loki dismissed and ignored.

“You’ll live here,” Loki informed her in the allspeak. “Guard this building and its contents. Eat your fill of the surrounding wildlife. Do not attack humans that don’t present a threat or animals that the humans are attached to. Doing otherwise will bring attention to your presence, and I trust that you do not want to be hunted or killed. If you prove an able guardian, I will provide you with sanctuary from---” he made an all-inclusive hand gesture, “---this world’s inhabitants.” It was a comfortably-sized loophole should he have need of one. He only hoped the creature was intelligent enough to understand the general idea of what he was saying if not the entirety of it; finding another convenient monster would be tedious. Keeping such a beast as a sentinel was one of the few so-called _supervillain_ tenets he’d witnessed and approved of. The security footage never failed to entertain. Several business meetings between their number had been supplemented with it.

The spider clicked, once. Loki took that as her agreement and turned his attention to his work.

In the center of the room, the dome was fluctuating beneath the weight of Loki’s new inscriptions. He’d translated several of the runes into Asgardian to gauge the effect. Thus far it had changed nothing save the shade of purple, but some of the more nuanced translations would likely have a blatant outcome given enough time. There was one particular word that could be used interchangeably for shield or lock that Loki was curious to see applied. It was feasible that it would either morph the walls of the dome into a force-field, or undo the failsafe Loki had written into the runes to allow passage from the inside. The fortunate thing about the dome’s construction was that if an error was made in the runes, it self-edited them to maintain its structure. This didn’t make a mistake any less dangerous, but it made it simple to read the runes and define changes and results.

Loki took inventory of the inscriptions in their cycle across the dome’s surface, walking around the border in slow circles. They were moving sluggishly compared to previous experiments. Thus far it had not self-edited, however.

Content with what he’d observed, he took a sample of venom from the body of the dead spider and arranged several tests to analyze composition in vials along the wall opposite Damson’s corner. Beneath these vials, he set aside tests of a more delicate nature. The viability series required a drop of the venom in each of a dozen small globes, where it would then mix with a base ingredient of different specialties of enchantment. Once the series had run its course, Loki would have some idea of what use the venom would have to him.

All of that would take several days, however, and the Denver lab lacked the amenities of the Brooklyn apartment. He let his eyes rove carefully over the interior of the room, seeking out anything that might be out of place. Finding nothing, Loki lifted a hand and wrote in lines of script that hung in the air and then plastered themselves to the ceiling and floor in a semi-circle around the table bearing the vials. Damson would sense the thrum of power and stay clear. He performed the same around the dome; it would be regrettable if the spider crossed through the surface only to be trapped and starve herself. 

Satisfied that this was enough protection, Loki walked outside. The door swung and slammed shut behind him on rusty hinges, and the sound was sharp in the still air. In the distance, there was the sound of motors, but the noise never ventured close. Loki chose his lab’s real estate for its seclusion, and he had not been disappointed as of yet. He strode purposefully into the woods and once he reached a sufficient marker, he set about creating a border to provide Damson with a sense of the property she was to protect. It doubled as a fence, but Loki had faith that as time passed the first reasoning would be the most applicable. An adequate supply of food should cross within the perimeter to keep her well fed. If she did not manage to survive, it wouldn’t be due to lack of resources.

He made the trip to Brooklyn, looking forward to seeing how the battle between the Avengers and the spiders had played out. Truthfully, he was hoping to catch a glimpse of Stark. Loki was confident in his ability to discern a reaction to the message he had left, whether or not Stark made mention of it. Stark did not appear on the news however, and instead Maria Hill made a statement, pronouncing the threat neutralized with two fatalities and seven in grave condition. From what was said, Loki judged none of the Avengers to be among that number. He wasn’t sure if he should be pleased for the chance to battle them in the future or irritated at their resilience.

\---

He was holding in a loop of intestine with his palm when he approached the skeleton that night. Proper procedure would have been to ensure it remained moist and covered until such a time that he could repair the damage and enact spells to counter the high possibility of infection, but those actions would serve him little or nothing in the confines of the dream. The pain, unfortunately, was entirely realistic. Loki had the saving grace of experience in that category, and so when he went to his knees in front of the will-o’-the-wisp and its bearer, it was from exhaustion rather than being overwrought.

Fear though… That was something he knew he could have all the knowledge of in the world, in _any_ world, and still be affected by it, if not beholden to it. Loki collected his thoughts into a methodical array, bringing them to order from the fever-bright haze the path and its inhabitants had made of them. It took longer than he wanted. He could not help the glances he cast over his shoulder, could not help the expectant shaking that came over him in those moments. The soft, cool light of the will-o’-the-wisp encircled him, protected him. At any time, it would die, he’d be swathed in darkness, and before his eyes could adjust, the corpses would reach him and break him apart, messily, ravenously. Everything depended on that light, and Loki had no control over it.

His throat hurt when he swallowed, and he realized he’d been shouting. He shook his head, quiet when he didn’t want to be, not entirely secure in his summation of events. The murky confusion wasn’t a state he had time to decipher though, and he needed to preserve his voice, needed to ask questions.

And just like that, his intentions realigned, and he was calm.

As though it sensed his readiness to begin, the skeleton lifted a hand still covered in small patches of flesh in a sign of greeting.

Loki extended a smile, fleeting but defiant and strong, in return. During the previous dream, he’d surmised that the skeleton was human, not Asgardian, and male. He continued that same line with, “Are you the representation of a person I have met?”

The skeleton shook its head, no.

“Do you represent a person I will meet?”

Once more, no. 

That eliminated many of the possibilities that Loki had foreseen, and he modified his deliberations to account for it. “Is your identity relevant to the meaning of this prophecy?”

No, again, but Loki reconsidered his phrasing when the skeleton lifted its hand and made a motion for him to go further.

“Is your identity relevant to the _course_ of this prophecy?” he specified.

A nod. In that case, he needed to concentrate on uncovering the skeleton’s identity. This was the first indication he’d had of a factor that could affect the outcome. When the dreams had first started, Loki had awoken shortly after entering the clearing. Now, none of the dreams concluded with anything other than him dying beneath that empty expanse of sky.

“But you are not the dream-form of a person I have met or will meet…” Loki considered. 

It wasn’t a question, but he was still given a nod. The skeleton gestured to itself and then tapped its wrist; Loki recognized the human gesture indicating time.

His hand slipped wetly over his wound as he flinched, and he buried an aching note of pain in his throat. “Are you---” he attempted, in vain.

The light vanished, but not before Loki saw the skeleton bow its head as if it did not want to watch. 

That night, his death came quickly, so quickly that his panic did not even have time to reach its previous zenith. The thud of wet ground beneath a great many feet came from all sides, and then one of the corpses dipped its fingers into that loop of intestine and _pulled_ … 

He lost his voice after all.

\---

England didn’t walk through the door; he stumbled, keys clattering into a glass bowl just inside the threshold. There was a sound of shoes scuffing against wood flooring, and then half-growled syllables easily discerned as cursing through tone if not enunciation. Loki waited patiently in an armchair as he fumbled through his kitchen for a bottle of water. When England turned and finally caught sight of him, the nation froze.

“Oh, hell, didn’t give you proper business hours, did I?” England groused, incredulous, slurred. “But it’s three in the bloody morning, and I’m, I’m…” A purposeful shaking of his head, followed by a jagged smile that brought to mind bar brawls the Warriors Three had often left Loki to clean up after. “Well, I’m certainly not sober.”

“I don’t need you to be,” Loki responded charitably. His voice masked his desperation quite effectively. He’d spent a great deal of time hunched over on the kitchen tiles of the Brooklyn apartment collecting himself, but there would be no evidence of that to the nation’s eyes.

“If I’m talking to you, then _I_ need me to be.” A look of concentration passed over his face, and the hand he’d been gesticulating with drooped. “Hold on, was that…? No, yes. That was the correct grammatical. Grammar. The correct grammar.” Despite his protests, England moved forward with what could only generously be called walking and sank onto the end of the couch furthest from where Loki sat.

After surveying the distance between him and discerning the proper angles for kill-points should he need them, Loki opened with, “When a will-o’-the-wisp is carried, what creature bears it?”

England shrugged a shoulder, a graceless motion with hopes of refinement from wardrobe alone. “One of the fae, usually.”

“And when the occurrence _isn’t_ usual?” Loki prompted, annoyed. He did not deal in _usually_. He wanted to know all the possibilities, needed to factor them into his understanding.

“Someone with a curse on them or someone who owes the fae. Owes them _a lot_.” A frown tugged at the corner of England’s mouth. “Will-o’-the-wisps are very parti---, parcul---, _fussy_.” He nodded sharply, then looked queasy. “A tie to the fae is a must.”

The skeleton had claimed to be human, which would indicate one of the latter possibilities. Loki turned that over in his thoughts for a moment. “Are these… non-fae equally bound by truth while performing this task?”

“Always,” England answered. There was no shred of hesitation or doubt in his voice, and the conviction of the response almost lent him the impression of sobriety. Then he went on with, “They can be cruel about people’s cooking, you know,” and the impression was shattered.

Loki studied him, his slouch, his lack of apparent concern. “You were surprised by my presence. Your ability to sense me is dulled when you are inebriated.”

The nation shook his head. “No, no, it’s not that. You’re in my house. This side of the wards makes things,” he spun his hand in the air, “Foggy.” His tone took an accusatory edge. “I gave you my number, you were supposed to call. Or text.” England eyed him blearily. “ _Can_ you text?”

“You are being very trusting, considering your current vulnerability,” Loki observed.

“I don’t think so.” The words were soft, conversational.

That same annoyance pulsed in Loki’s chest, threatened to become anger. Did England think himself safe? It was insulting. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten what I am capable of.”

England’s eyes met his, and glazed with alcohol or not, there was a steady ferocity there that had not been lessened. “There were British tourists in New York City.” It was spoken just as casually as his previous statement. “No, I haven’t forgotten. Even if there hadn’t been, it’s not something I would forget.” He shifted his position so that he could reach into his back pocket for his wallet. For a few moments, he shuffled clumsily through the contents before finding what he was looking for and flicking it to land on the coffee table in front of Loki.

The photograph had signs of age that Loki immediately noticed when he picked it up. There were three men, England and two others standing to his left, each in what he guessed to be the military uniform of their nationality. All three were smiling, but there was an exhaustion to their expression that suggested desperate relief. He turned the photograph over. The date read August 24th, 1944.

“France and America,” England told him. He sat up, leaned closer. “I love them. Very dearly. And do you know… Do you know how many of my people they have killed? How many of their people that I have killed?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, before continuing, “Or how many we have saved together, protected? I fought them both. I fought alongside them both.” Loki’s grip on the photograph slackened to allow England to take it and return it to its place. “And so, believe me when I say that your past actions have been taken to heart,” he drew a sloppy ‘x’ over his chest, “but will not be the only factor in this, this business venture.”

Loki absorbed the declaration, dissected it, studied the pieces, and filed them away. “I understand,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a lie: however the statement had been dressed, England had told him he became emotionally entangled yet had the ability to do what he believed necessary regardless.

“Anything else?” England reclined back on the couch, hands folding on his stomach, and the cusp of sleep was blurring his expression.

He left without answering. The sensation of passing from the inside of the nation’s wards was one of wading through muck. It was primitive, irritating. The next time they met, Loki would need to test England’s magic. If that was the extent of his safety measures, he was pathetic, and Loki didn’t make a habit of associating with pathetic people.

\---  
\----  
\---

Dinner with Thor was not a fancy affair. They sat in workout pants and thread-bare t-shirts on the floor of Tony’s bedroom ---there had been aspirations of the dining room, but then Tony had lost track of time---, with a stack of pizza boxes so high that at some point his life, Tony was pretty sure they would have been unconquerable, but that was easily vanquished by stellar teamwork. Tony’s torso was wrapped in an optimistic and enthusiastic amount of bandages, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever felt with the proper meds, and Pepper was always getting onto him about posture anyway. He’d even sat far enough away from Thor that he wasn’t in danger of a friendly back-thumping.

Thor spent a while talking about Jane (lots of lovey dovey stuff, and also that her new cat wasn’t fond of him, but Thor was determined to make peace), and Tony spent a while avoiding talking about his pseudo-relationship with Pepper (and her new possibly-not-pseudo-relationship with a charming paralegal that Tony couldn’t muster any vitriol towards no matter how hard he tried), but eventually all roads led back to the team. They thought up duo attacks for themselves that got increasingly more outlandish the more pizza-stuffed they became, but JARVIS dutifully made notes of everything no matter how improbable it was they’d put plans like Lightening Suit or Operation Poptarts for the Poptartless into action. Between the laughter and cheese, though, Tony got a heavy sense of something hanging between them that they were both aware of and couldn’t quite bring into focus.

With the straightforward geniality that he wore like his armor, Thor brought it up first. “Why is it we are dining alone? Did you wish to speak with me in private?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.” Tony rubbed at the back of his neck and nudged a pizza box away from him with a foot.

Thor looked at him expectantly, still smiling, head cocked slightly so his hair came close to falling over his face.

Hissing out a breath between his teeth, Tony steadied himself. “Okay. Just… Heads up, it’s about Loki. Nothing imminently bad, I don’t think. Just stuff.”

The smile faltered, and Tony saw the Thor equivalent of _shields up_ creep into his expression, but he still looked earnest, open, ready to talk. “Please, continue.”

“First, I want you to know that I waited a couple days to tell you about this because I wanted to understand how I felt about it first…” Tony trailed off, worried for the billionth time that waiting had been a stupid mistake and Thor was going to be pissed over it.

But Thor just nodded, and as if sensing Tony’s nerves, said, “I’ve faced similar decisions.” He really didn’t sound mad. Then again, he hadn’t heard the story yet.

“Okay. Okay, cool.” Tony shifted awkwardly. “Well… so you know Loki gave me the ring, right?”

“As a gift for your aid to him.”

“Right. Well. When we were fighting those lizard people, Loki told me that I should try putting it in the water. Could you hand me that bowl on the nightstand?” Tony took the bowl of water he’d had waiting for this reason from Thor’s hands as he passed it over the pizza boxes graveyard. “So, check this out.” He twisted the ring off his pointer finger and dropped it. It sank with a soft _plop_. Beauregard immediately left the confines of his cage and started swimming in shimmering circles. Before, Tony wouldn’t have risked it, not after Loki showed up the first time. JARVIS had run tests on the ring, though, and couldn’t find any example of summoning magic Tony had entered into the database, and he had tried it earlier to be sure. There’d been absolutely nothing except an acrobatic Bo.

“It is a precious gift,” Thor said in a tone of fond wonder that made Tony’s heart clench for ill-defined reasons.

“Yeah, I’m getting that…” Tony held the bowl carefully in his lap. “I figured this out while we were at the beach. That time Pepper called, and I went on a walk? Well, we talked business for a bit, but then she mentioned some things---” goddamn paralegal and his perfect work ethic and apparently good taste in wine, “---that made me feel a bit, I dunno…”

“Upset?” Thor suggested helpfully.

“Nah, of course not,” Tony waved away. “But the point is, I ended up putting the ring in the ocean, and Beauregard came out. Beauregard’s the fish,” he clarified at Thor’s confusion. “Pretty much right after that, um…” He fumbled for the truth, caught it, and held on tight. His next words lined up like nervous school kids on the way to class. “Loki showed up on the beach with me.” The surprise on Thor’s face hurt, but Tony went on before the interruption could chase away his nerve. “He just told me to talk, hinted that he wanted a distraction, and said that I made a good one. I think he was having a bad night because he looked… not okay.”

Thor averted his eyes for a split second that felt much longer before meeting Tony’s again. “What did you speak of?”

And Tony relayed the whole conversation, slight about Thor and getting knocked into the water by Loki included. Thor was as crushed as Tony had expected him to be, but he bore it like he did everything else; the guy was strong, and there was a lot of weight that he could carry.

“ _Sir, pardon the interruption, but there is one discrepancy._ ”

The two of them jerked out of their reverie to show each other twin expressions of bewilderment. 

“What do you mean, JARVIS?” Tony asked, wracking his mind for what he’d gotten wrong.

“ _Loki did not say an incantation before he struck you, and it was not one word. He said ‘the only choice’. Presumably, you heard the first and part of the second. I was not aware, or I would have brought this to your attention before._ ”

“The only choice…” Thor repeated, low, as if the sentence was fragile and might break if he said it with any more strength. “In response to his seeking to hurt me.” He clasped his hands together in front of him, bent his head over them. “But it isn’t…”

Instinctively, Tony reached out to put a hand on his arm, ribs be damned. He moved closer. “Hey, whoa, don’t do this to yourself. Listen to me, okay, buddy? There’s more I wanted to say.” Tony settled down next to him, let their shoulders align. “You know how people keep telling you to give up hope when it comes to your brother?” He clenched his grip on Thor’s arm, shook a little. “I don’t think that’s right. I’m not going to lie… I used to think it was, but I didn’t have much one-on-one experience with the guy to go on. I have some now. Some more than what I’ve said yet, actually.”

Thor lifted his head, eyes searching. There was glint of moisture to them that Tony didn’t know what to do about.

“He was at the farm when we fought the spider,” he confessed. “I passed out. JARVIS showed me the footage when I woke up. The suit was covered in spiders, but Loki got them away from me and left a message. He said he was curious to know what I’d make _him_ now that he’s saved _me_.” Tony swallowed hard, realized he was kinda shaky. “The whole thing smacks of a dastardly plan, but you know something? It’s a connection. Your brother keeps making connections. And sometimes people just use whoever’s on the other end, but the reality is, that person on the other side can connect right back, and they don’t have to have the same motives.” Fuck, he was really about to say what he was about to say. “I wanna do that. Seeing him on the beach made me want to try.”

The last sentence had barely left his mouth before Thor surged up and clung to him at the shoulders, the angle feeling unnatural and not exactly a hug, mindful of Tony’s ribs. “Thank you.” Thor’s voice was a rasp. “Thank you, my friend.”

Tony lifted a hand to press to Thor’s shoulder-blade, and said, “No problem,” while thinking of gifts, nightmares, and a fluctuating spell.


	5. Fork in the Road

Tony and Thor had breakfast together the next morning, and Tony actually checked the clock and made it to an actual breakfast nook (he’d forgotten the house had those until people moved in with him) with an actual table. The way Thor beamed at him had roughly the same effect as a spotlight in the face. It was a good thing that Tony had never suffered from stage fright. Clearly Steve made omelets at some ungodly hour, because there were three plates of the delicious bastards, separated according to ingredients, and bordered by other plates containing bacon, English muffins, pancakes, and sausage. Tony could remember a day when his kitchen hadn’t been stocked; now finding space for a stick of butter was a veritable hat trick. There were signs that some of their teammates had already been through to make a plate and leave, so when Tony took the chair next to Thor, it was just the two of them.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a sit-down with Thor, but it was maybe the first time Thor seemed utterly uninhibited. Tony’s support opened the floodgates, and stories about his brother poured through. He saw now where Thor had held back, where he had censored himself, as if he was worried the people who had fought Loki and protected lives from him would be wounded by it. Tony heard about cloud-borne roads made of sapphires that Loki had enspelled with light, underwater palaces haunted by spectral armies that they had stormed together, the cave system they had been lost in as children and how Loki had lied to take the blame, the vow they’d made in their youth that even though only one of them could be king of Asgard, they’d both devote their lives to its protection. It sounded like Loki had broken a lot of vows. To be fair, he hadn’t been in possession of all the facts. By the same token, though, he’d still made those promises to someone he loved and that honestly loved him back; that bit hadn’t been a lie.

Somewhere in the middle of a story in which Volstagg had been vengefully kidnapped by a Roc (Tony was only a little sour about having a head for mythology now because of its direct freaking impact on his life) for trying to make a meal out of its eggs, Natasha walked in, sat down, and started in on one of the omelets.

Thor and Tony stopped talking for a second, wondering what her reaction would be to the obvious content of their conversation and how long she’d been in earshot. Putting their anxiety at ease, all she did was lift her eyes to theirs briefly, with a blank expression that somehow managed to be expectant, and kept eating.

That was the only prompt Thor needed, and he jumped right back in, telling them both how Loki had set one of the Roc’s wings on fire and used his magic to pluck Volstagg right out of thin air as he fell. Thor was grinning as he relayed the jokes that followed, most involving concern that Volstagg’s size had somehow strained Loki’s magic and how Loki had mimed being winded for a good portion of the journey home.

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of great stories with him,” Tony said, matching Thor’s smile.

His expression softened somewhat, a muted version of the previous enthusiasm. “From the moment I held him as an infant, until now, Tony Stark. That is the number of stories I can tell of my brother. Nearly the entirety of my life…” He let his attention drop to his plate, and he still looked a little awkward with the silverware as he fidgeted aimlessly. “And I wish to be able to make the same claim a lifetime hence.”

There was a clink of glass on glass as Natasha set her orange juice back down on the table. “People evolve,” she noted smoothly. Then, as she separated her omelet into small neat bites, “And they continue evolving. He’ll never be what he was, but he might not stay what he is.”

Tony jerked a thumb at her. “What she said.”

“Just… stay levelheaded, Thor.” Natasha made eye contact with him but never strayed from the mundane activity that was breakfast. “Right now, your brother wants power and doesn’t care how he gets it. That’s our current reality, no matter what the future could be, and reality is what we must act on.” She pointed her fork at Tony. “You too.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony answered, and was vaguely embarrassed to admit that response was more instinct than humor. Natasha was scary like pit vipers were scary. Ain’t _nobody_ fucking with pit vipers. “And, uh, while we’re on the subject---”

“If this is about the beach, Bruce told me,” Natasha derailed as she moved some bacon over to her plate.

Tony sat back in his chair and covered his heart with a hand dramatically. “ _Traitor_.”

“He said you were going to tell me eventually and hated having emotional conversations.”

“ _Best friend,_ ” he amended. Although, he did wonder how Bruce had described it to her, whether he said it like Tony was in his right mind or not. “Any comments you’d like to make?”

If it was possible to shrug with poise, then that is what Natasha did at that moment. “Only that I’ll be paying very close attention.”

Cool, because that wasn’t terrifying or anything. “And, your, uh… personal opinion?”

“My personal opinion is that Thor knows his brother better than Loki wants to accept.” Her fingers laced around her glass. “There is just as much to be learned from the lies a person chooses to tell as from the truth. Loki lies about Thor often.” She searched Tony’s expression, his bearing, and Tony had no illusions as to whether she missed anything. Then she turned that same look on Thor and spoke to both of them. “What you’re trying to do may be impossible, but I do think your history, Thor, and your… skill set, Tony, give you an advantage.” Equably, she added, “Success would mean a great deal.”

“I never settle for anything else,” Tony responded with a cocky grin.

Natasha didn’t smile back. “This is serious, Tony. Make him an ally or accept that he’s an enemy.” She refocused on her plate and let the conversation dangle there between them.

Thor glanced back and forth, slowly, with a pleased but concerned expression on his face, and then ventured, “Have I told you the tale of Loki and the fossegrim?”

He hadn’t; he fixed that. The three of them finished breakfast and then sat around drinking coffee (Thor’s decaf) while they learned about Thor’s life before he’d come to earth, heard stories about his brother and parents, about his friends, about parties gone wrong and parties gone right, and adventures that illustrated all the reasons he fit right in on a superhero team. Afterwards, Tony headed to his lab feeling good about everything and ready to get some work done. He even remembered to eat lunch later.

\---

When the conversation had finally happened, Steve had stared at him silently, arms crossed, one ankle resting on a knee, for a solid ninety seconds. It had been reminiscent of sitting in a principal’s office, but they’d gotten through it with minimal fuss. Steve expressed concern, which Tony had expected, and then gave an order in relation to highly detailed reports, which Tony had also expected, and then gave a short speech on how in the time they’d known each other, Steve’s respect for Tony had grown, which Tony hadn’t expected at all; he said an awful lot about having _faith_ in Tony, and that made his heart do this clench-y thing that had a lot to do with growing up on a steady diet of Captain America hero worship, dashed in adolescence, and then grudgingly resurrected while the Helicarrier plummeted to the earth and people shot at them. Having Steve’s support was like having that crucial component in a piece of machinery. It was simultaneously a relief and a reaffirmation of all the ways Tony’s life was pulling together into something cohesive, something fantastic.

The discussion with Clint didn’t go as well. They drowned in it, like the words were there, but they couldn’t quite get a handhold and push them out into air. He agreed not to go so far as to sabotage him, but Clint was vocal about his doubts. It made Tony uneasy. Strung out between them, unspoken, was the fact that this was an area Clint had experience in. The assassin had on several occasions made private calls, made decisions in violation of orders in regards to opponents and the possibilities for their future. Hell, one of them was living in the tower, and they all loved her like crazy. That Clint could look him in the eyes and say, flat out, that Tony had no chance in this, was… well, discouraging was an understatement. That aside, it might not be support in the way he’d wanted it to be, but Tony balanced it out with the fact it wasn’t exactly _not_ supportive either, which, all in all, was a pretty Clint-like reaction.

With that settled, he dove into the project for Loki’s return gift, tests on the ring running consistently in the background. Three days later, the idea struck, and Tony didn’t leave his lab until he had seventeen slides of blueprints. Everything cascaded through his brain and onto the screen with the sort of manic energy that he harnessed and treasured like quality fuel, tempered by coffee and Biscotti strategically placed on his work table by Pepper.

When he felt like he’d made enough headway for a rough prototype, he decided to go in search of a second opinion. Said second opinion was in bed, asleep, but that wasn’t too great of a hurdle by Tony Stark standards.

Bruce groaned and turned his head away. “Tony, you’re my friend, and I love you, but if you don’t get out of my room right---”

Tony leaned forward over him to shove the tablet within sight.

“---now, I’ll--- Oh, hey, science.” He sat up and took it from Tony’s hands, glasses snatched from the bedside table and onto his face, eyes devouring the information while his body snapped from sleeping to working like the flip of a switch. It was always a little startling to see a guy who was usually so languid do something that sharply. There was still an imprint from the sheets on his cheek. “Well, this is much better than the last time you woke me up at four in the morning. What was it…” Bruce rubbed at his temple with an expression of deep thought. “America’s Next Top Model?”

“ _Superhero photoshoot_ ,” came Tony’s automatic qualifier as he tapped his foot, excited to be showing the plans to someone. “You and the Hulk were portrayed by _hot twins_. Bringing it to your attention was a moral obligation.”

“We had it recorded. There was no reason to…” Bruce broke off in a sigh. “Forget it.” He waved a hand over the screen. “What is this for?”

“It’s a puzzle box!”

Bruce pointed to a diagram near the top right. “That is a laser.” He mimed considering it carefully, and then nodded decisively before, “Tony, puzzle boxes don’t have lasers.”

That just made him smile wider, brighter. “This puzzle box has four. They’re red and gold.”

“Of course they are.” There was a _hmm_ of acceptance that meant Bruce was on board, and Tony’s inner cheerleader brandished pom-poms in victory. That was Bruce’s commitment sound and heralded deep thought and new designs. “I just woke up, though, and I think I might be missing a few key points, so if you could just explain why…”

Tony’s smile spasmed into something uncertain. “It’s the present for Loki.”

“Uh-huh.” A beat of silence. “Hold this.” Bruce handed him the tablet, Tony took it in mild confusion, and then Bruce rolled onto his side and pulled a pillow over his head.

“But, Bruce,” Tony protested, throwing himself unreservedly into lighthearted compensation (a proven tactic to slice through awkwardness with Bruce) while waving the screen around so that its light crossed the room, back and forth, back and forth. He knew from reliable sources that went by the names of Pepper and Rhodey that it was particularly annoying. “Science!”

“Crazy science.” His voice was muffled by pillow.

“That’s, like, the best kind.” But Tony hesitated, not doubtful per say, but abruptly wondering how he could show a guy the plans for a puzzle box with lasers and then communicate how serious he really was. Sometimes, when he was sleep-deprived, he came across as more child-who-found-the-coffee and less genius-adult. Tentatively, he slumped to the side until he was sitting on the mattress. He could see Bruce’s profile tense slightly as it dipped beneath his weight, and Tony knew why. Tony normally would have given up by then and fixed his focus somewhere else with equal enthusiasm. “The thing is…” Tony admitted, “Loki gave me the ring, and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since. It’s that fucking magic.” He shook his head, smile quirking at one corner. “I want to give him a present that’s going to be just as confusing for him. One with tech. I want it to be a challenge, I want it to be maddening, and, goddammit, I want it to be impressive too.”

Bruce didn’t answer. After a few moments, he just shifted onto his back, lifted the pillow off, and reached wordlessly for the tablet.

Oh, Tony was _so_ going to be finishing that robot puppy for Bruce and Hulk as soon as he took a break. It would be adorable and programmed to make tea and fetch Hostess cakes.

“What do you have so far?” Bruce asked with only mild gruffness, flicking through the pages of plans.

“About a quarter of the puzzle planned and designs for a cool pocket watch that’ll go inside once you can get it open.” Tony swung his legs up and reclined against the headboard. “When you move pieces the wrong way, different things like the lasers happen. A bar of Back in Black plays when you get one right. Theoretically, once you get the pattern figured out, and if you time it right, you can play the whole song.”

“Alternatively, he’ll get irritated and smash it.”

“Nah, he’ll want to figure it out,” he said with absolute confidence. “He can turn off the music once he gets inside it if it really bothers him.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “Really? You gave him an out?”

Tony made a see-sawing motion with one hand. “Not yet, technically, but I’ll add one later. JARVIS, make a note.”

“ _Of course, sir._ ”

It wasn’t until Tony tore his attention from the screen to gauge Bruce’s reactions that he realized Bruce looked almost… sick, uneasy, kinda like when a person’s nauseated but trying really hard to convince themselves and everyone around them that they’re not. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, startled.

He didn’t answer right away, and, truthfully, that was an answer all on its own. “We’re talking about making a game for Loki, and before you woke me up, I was dreaming about…” Bruce spoke with that imperturbable tranquility he wore like a second skin, trailing off at the end, but the pieces clicked together for Tony so he disregarded the comfortable tone. There were creases at the corners of Bruce’s eyes as though he was resisting scrunching them shut. “I’m trying to run with this like I do with the rest of your plans, Tony. I’m trying, but I’m not sure I’m there yet.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he felt a cold, prickling wave of guilt shoot from his skull, down his spine, and back up. “Oh.” Of course. Just because his friends were supportive didn’t mean they wanted to be active participants in Tony’s side-quest. They’d be there if Tony needed them, he had no doubt, but when it was something practically _playful_ … He shouldn’t expect them to be as hands-on, not with everything that encompassed their experiences with Loki. Tony might be trying to take the make-a-connection approach, but what felt like emotional progress to him might look crass through a different lens.

Bruce turned a knowing half-smile on him, and it made Tony’s internal-freak-out quiet down, soothed it to embers before it had properly begun. “That wasn’t an admonishment, Tony. I want to help.”

He fidgeted with the bedspread, plucked little mountains and then smoothed them out. “I ask too much sometimes. You should tell me when I do that. If I don’t listen, then make me---”

“ _Pardon the interruption, sir, but there is a call on the line from Director Fury in regards to a local homicide._ ”

He waved a hand distractedly. “In the middle of something here, JARVIS. For all he knows, I’m asleep.”

“Go answer the phone, Tony,” Bruce said tiredly, with that same smile. “I can get some more sleep, and we can finish this,” he indicated the tablet, “when I’m more lucid.”

“Are you---”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Tony watched him, mouth dry, still feeling that guilty echo, but he slid awkwardly from the bed and stood. When Bruce handed him the tablet again, he was able to stop hovering and start for the door. He took slow, backwards steps. “I’ll, uh, talk to you in a few hours then.”

“I look forward to discovering that the number of lasers has doubled or that mistakes are narrated by Gilbert Gottfried,” Bruce assured him.

\---  
\----  
\---

There was a line of animal bones leading from the wall beneath one false window, crossing several inches from Loki’s boots, and terminating in the corner where Damson sat in her sconce, clicking at him. He considered chastising her for it, but it did give the room a certain ambiance, and there were a number of spells improved by remains. They were picked clean of flesh and pot-marked by acid; the former was helpful and the latter inconsequential. Loki invoked a small amount of force and swept the trail neatly into a pile beneath the spider, the bones making percussive sounds as they slid and rolled across the floor. Seemingly irritated with his redecoration, Damson clicked at him again and then turned her back on him.

Loki ignored her in favor of the viability series shimmering gold with their completion.

He filed through the contents with few promising results. Beyond its natural acidic qualities, the venom would not be a particularly potent ingredient in weaponized spells, and the outcome of the defensive analysis showed that it might be actively detrimental in that category. The tests for transformation, mind control, glamours, and augmentation presented a curdled concoction that would function as little more than a second poison. Loki cleared them away.

Only the second to last globe showed promise: those spells directed towards clairsensing. The venom had coalesced into a black, inky substance, and every so often, something would appear to slither just beneath the surface. The autonomy represented in that movement had potential. Control may well be an issue, but that was a challenge he’d be more than willing to accept if the reward was proportionate.

He studied it for several minutes before a plan solidified in his mind. Unfortunately, he did not have the necessary literature to complete the work, but he was certain that Victor would. 

The landscape of the journey to Latveria was as varied as ever, but Loki had long since devised the shortest path there from the homes in his possession, and so it had become familiar. He teleported into Doomstadt and was escorted the rest of the way to the castle by Victor’s robotic henchmen, the air thick with an inescapable scent of smoke. As a precaution in response to _past endeavors_ , Victor had taken measures to prevent direct teleportation into his home. Loki wasn’t bitter. It was charming, really. The humans Loki passed stumbled out of his way, recognizing him instanteously and shying away from his sight. Fear was prevalent in this place, and for justifiable reasons.

Victor’s hands were wrist deep in a dead cherufe’s chest when Loki entered his lab, and it gave Loki pause for two specific reasons: firstly, that judging from Tony Stark’s statement on that tedious stretch of sand, the captured cherufe had been in SHIELD custody, and secondly, that the cherufe produced fire, something that Victor reacted very intensely to. Nothing in his vicinity was broken or twisted, however, so his mood was presumably not at its worst. “What is it, Loki?”

Loki crossed further into the room, casting his eyes around the arrayed experiments in appreciative interest. There was a noticeable increase in easily-concealed weaponry that was certain to be giving people cause for concern very soon. “I would like to borrow the Chastenet Compendium.” 

“The blue library in the east wing,” Victor responded without shifting to so much as glance at him. He reached for an instrument hanging above the table, but there was an odd angle to his body. Loki frowned as he watched the man move, the tenseness to the motion. It was even more unyielding than his armor normally rendered his actions.

“You’re injured,” Loki observed flatly.

The line of his shoulders stiffened, and Loki had long since learned to read reactions from Victor’s posture. He was determining whether there had been a threat behind that remark, and evidently, he decided that there hadn’t been, because Loki did not find himself under attack. “Take the book and go.”

He stayed where he was, intrigued. “I would heal you as payment. It must be a peculiar spell if you haven’t healed it yourself.”

That earned a contained portion of Victor’s renowned ire. “I neither need your help nor trust you that far.”

Loki scrutinized him briefly, and then bowed his head. “Thank you for the loan, Victor. It will be returned to you within the week.”

“Acceptable.” The force put into the word clearly identified the end to the conversation.

The return trip to Denver felt inexplicably and tiresomely slower.

\---

A hand pushing up through the path’s gravel caught on Loki’s ankle, smeared blood there. The grip tightened, twisted, but Loki freed himself before its fellows could overwhelm him completely. As he regained his balance on the slick gravel, he lost valuable time, slipped in the gory muck, had to fight to stay upright. The inhuman corpses were already free to mid-torso by the time Loki made it into the trees. He cast one final glance behind him as he ran, saw their nearly translucent skin splitting beneath edges of rock as they tore their way to the surface. Almost immediately, rotting fingers tangled in his hair as he passed under a limb, jerking his head roughly to the side before his forward momentum snapped them apart and they fell away. Warmth told him they’d drawn blood.

He could hear frenzied footsteps and high-pitched, keening noises that permeated his thoughts and drove him faster, fueled on fear. His heart was beating rabbit-quick. Before the dreams, it had been a very long time since he’d felt like prey. The last instances had been in his childhood, by Thor’s side, their strength yet untested and facing enemies that would delight in the death of princelings. He hadn’t been alone then, and by the time he _was_ alone, the wealth of his power made that detail unimportant. None of that mattered here. His magic was useless, and regardless of anything he did, he died, in the company of nothing but the sound of a distant ocean and hungry mouths eating him alive.

His ankle buckled, and he fell. They were on him in seconds. He lifted a hand to fend the nearest one off, and its companion closed its teeth on his fingers and thrashed its head, tearing them away at the lowest knuckle. Another mouth bit into his leg and removed a chunk of flesh and muscle before a fourth creature attacked it to reach the bloodflow. Loki took advantage of the scuffle to pull away, the pain sharp enough to bring focus into the panic.

Through the trees, the light was close, and the promise of safety, however temporary, was too precious not to strive for.

He dragged his useless leg behind him into the clearing, knowing, _knowing_ that he’d lost too much time. His internal estimation of how long he had before the will-o’-the-wisp vanished was nearly up, and there would be little or no opportunity to ask questions. He could feel his throat close around his staggering breaths, and it ached, cold on its way to his lungs. The ground was blunt, rough, as he collapsed and caught himself on his hands, the pressure on the ragged stumps sending a shock of pain that drove the sense of suffocation deeper into his chest. 

The skeleton lifted its head at his entrance, followed Loki’s desperate movement with empty sockets.

His body was wracked with shaking as he stared up through blood-matted hair. From this vantage point, barely inside the clearing, he could see the glow of the will-o’-the-wisp begin to peel back from the forest, inch by inch, leaving shadow in its wake. Helpless panic overcame him in a deluge. “ _Give me something! Tell me what can change this!_ ” he shouted, throat raw.

It continued staring at him, unmoving, as he tried to regain the calm that had fled from him completely. Then, haltingly, as if each fraction was struggled for, the skeleton stood. Spectral chains flickered into view, disappearing into the soil, vanishing and reappearing at arbitrary intervals.

As it straightened to its full height, the will-o’-the-wisp was centered perfectly at the skeleton’s chest, the blue tumbling and stretching with the nature of a flame.

The implication settled with complete clarity in Loki’s mind, and the shock of it momentarily displaced his fear. “Tony Stark… Tony Stark can affect the prophecy?”

A nod. The spectral chains tightened, jerked the skeleton down, but it resisted. 

“I need to kill him?” Loki demanded frantically, seeing the will-o’-the-wisp begin to fold into itself.

The skeleton shook its head, and the chains erupted in long coils from the soil, sending dirt into the air before lashing themselves around their captive. As if it was accustomed to this, it maneuvered its arms in a swift fashion that prevented them from being bound to its sides.

“Then… what…”

It lifted a hand, and tapped at its wrist before it was finally yanked to the ground, several bones cracking beneath the force. When the will-o’-wisp vanished, the skeleton remained kneeling, tethered, a silent vigil to the creatures that wrapped cold fingers around Loki’s ankles and drew him back into the trees.

\---  
\----  
\---

Tony took the call in his lab, where he knew he could work while Fury was talking, make periodic non-committal sounds, and occasionally cast an eye on the transcript JARVIS filled in on a side screen. Most likely, the ‘local homicide’ tag was a front, and this was really about Tony getting into places inside SHIELD that he wasn’t necessarily supposed to. Ever since Tony had taken that nuke through the portal, Fury hadn’t been as anal about Tony mucking around with SHIELD security, so their conversations had become less threatening and more sport. There were still lines though, and Tony had a schoolyard inclination to jump over those lines, shout neener neener, and then jump back on the right side. Inconveniently, the subsequent expressions of innocence had about as much of an impact on Fury as humble requests had on cats.

One sentence into the phone call, and Tony’s assumption was proven wrong; the homicide was real, and the picture in the file he’d been sent looked vaguely familiar.

“The deceased is Dr. Bernard Hays. He was a paleontologist that had been looking into remains of a delicate nature for SHIELD,” Fury was saying. For once it wasn’t a video call, for which Tony was grateful; it was harder to fake focus, for one thing, and Tony had fewer tells in voice alone. The satisfaction this bought him was dampened by the depressing fact that Tony had apparently spoken to Fury so frequently in the last year that he could visualize Fury’s facial expressions through nothing but tone. “Hays kept a security feed in his home. I want you to take a look at the footage.”

“Is there a reason your team couldn’t?” Tony inquired with only a spritzing of unrelated impatience; in a column to his left, yet another round of tests on the ring had come back with zero effects. “I’m sorry he’s dead, but this isn’t exactly my specialty.”

“I’m hoping there is something that you might recognize.” Fury’s tone changed in a way that put Tony immediately on guard. It had the kind of smoothness people used to bait an opponent right before they laid down an ace. He didn’t like thinking about what an ace from Fury might entail.

Tony tore his attention from the Beauregard data to concentrate on the matter at hand. “The murderer?”

There was a sound that was either contemplative or smug. Probably both, the bastard. “There’s a distortion, an… _anomaly_ ,” the word was stressed as though it had been chosen specifically, “that could be something to do with magic.”

“You, uh. What?” Tony stammered out, going very still. “Why would you want me for that?”

Forget poker faces; Fury had a poker voice. “You’ve had a marked interest recently.” At his speechlessness, he continued with, “You bug my base, I bug the mansion.”

“But this is my house!” And it was illegal, but it wasn’t like Tony could throw stones in that department.

“But this is my base!” Fury mimicked in mocking perfection before he reverted to harsh seriousness. “Get me that information, Stark.”

“Wait, how much have you---”

“Relax. You think you’re the first person on a team of heroes to try and reach out to a villain?” Fury gave a low chuckle. “If I had a problem with it, Thor wouldn’t be on the team. Keep from being a liability or a danger, and you won’t have to find out how much I’ve heard.” The heavy insinuation of what would happen otherwise, made the hair on the back of Tony’s neck stand up, and there was a split-second in which his fingers stuttered over his keyboard. That sentence wasn’t Fury threatening him. It was more like handing out a standard _oh by the way_. After everything that had happened, Tony was pretty sure Fury was secure in the knowledge of Tony’s loyalty. There might be issues in the execution of that loyalty, and okay, some authority problems as well, but at the end of the day, Tony had declared for the Avengers. He couldn’t see anything changing that, and if Fury could read him as well as he did everyone else, then SHIELD’s director knew that too. Pointing out the consequences of the alternative was a formality.

That didn’t stop Tony from swallowing roughly and deliberately gliding past some memories in baggage claim. “Well, if you’re giving it the thumbs up, the fun can really start.” He tried on a smile, but it didn’t fit. He put it back and picked a different size, something smaller in a softer shade. “I’ll get a report to you on the Hays footage sometime tomorrow.”

“There’s another reason I’m giving you some influence over this case, Stark.” That tone was recognizable too. It was the one that went hand-in-hand with bad news. “We have a theory that this could be the work of a serial killer, and the victims may start hitting close to home.”

Tony checked over the picture of Hays again, still had that twinge of familiarity he couldn’t place. “What do you mean?”

He could hear Fury take a breath. “Hays was a colleague of Banner’s. He’d been on the news several times defending Banner and the Hulk against people who want them neutralized.”

And it did strike home. He remembered watching an interview and wanting to send a cornucopia of presents to the sweet elderly man in huge spectacles telling the world that Banner was brilliant and a good person. “Why do you think it’s a serial killer?” Tony asked softly, his body already preparing for the emotional barrage it knew from experience his mind was about to undergo.

“Because two other supporters of Banner have died in the past two weeks. We thought they were incidental, but now we can’t be sure,” Fury answered, and the statement twisted into a weight in Tony’s chest. “A student heavily involved in campus debates involving the Avengers, and Banner in particular, appeared to have fallen asleep at the wheel and drove her car off a bridge. A mother who was very vocal about how the Hulk killed one of the Chitauri before it could attack her children was found drowned at her family’s lake house.” There was a pause engineered to allow information to sink in. “We don’t know how the deaths were perpetrated, only that we’ve learned to be wary of coincidence.”

“But why _serial killer_?” Tony stressed, burying the surge of helpless anger to be dealt with later. “If they’re connected, it could be an organization, or…”

“You’ll understand when you’ve watched the footage and read the report.” 

“Okay,” Tony replied hazily. “What… What do you want me to say to Bruce?”

“Nothing.”

His expression went blank. “What?”

“Forget the initial reaction and then explaining this to the Hulk. Do you think Bruce will be able to concentrate on anything else beyond this case? He will see himself as responsible for the deaths of these people.” Even as Fury said it, even as Tony wanted to contradict him, he knew that Fury was right about that part. Bruce _would_ blame himself, and Hulk would sense that and react to it. “SHIELD will handle this. Just give us as many facts as you can.”

Abruptly, all that manic energy he’d had before dried up, and he was very tired. “I will.”

“I’ll look for your report tomorrow, then.” And Fury hung up.

\---  
\----  
\---

Loki was waiting on a city sidewalk, bathed in transitory multi-color light a few minutes shy of six am, when Stark’s car sped by in a white blur.

A quick calculation later, he was sitting in the passenger seat. Leather, grey, loud music.

“ _Holy shit!_ ” Stark swore in a shout, nearly swerving into the lane on his left, overcorrecting into the lane on his right, and finally straightening out again. At the same volume, inexplicably, “ _Fucking Maserati!_ ”

“Good morning,” Loki greeted as the music shut off. He absorbed the minutia of details presented by the man in that moment: frayed edges to his demeanor gave the distinct impression that he’d been distressed before Loki’s arrival, his clothes were rumpled and told the story of someone who’d either been awake for an extended time or collapsed into sleep without changing, and the tense set of Stark’s face prompted Loki to suspect the former. “I see you’re in considerably better condition than our last encounter.”

Stark regained his composure in admirable time, although the tempo of his breathing still betrayed him. “Yeah, there’s a noticeable lack of alien spider babies.” The smile his mouth apparently defaulted to in perilous situations sprung to his aid. “Thanks for that?”

It was a simple expression to return, even with his preoccupation. “If you received my message, then you know it wasn’t for free.”

An edge that was significantly brighter and more honest found its way into the angle of that smile. “Don’t worry, I’m working on something.” Stark shrugged one shoulder and then pointedly turned his attention back onto the road. “I guess it’s good we’re talking now. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get it to you.”

“What is your current destination?” Loki inquired mildly, still studying him. There was no apparent leaning towards aggression. Most likely, the AI, JARVIS, had notified the pertinent people.

“Nowhere, really. Just felt like driving.” Stark’s fingers twitched around the wheel, gave Loki a hint of the anxiety he was concealing. The man was an accomplished actor, equal parts truth and lies, seamlessly blended together. “Why? Is there somewhere you want to go?”

Loki saw the shiver lance down Stark’s spine as he said, “Not particularly, but there is a conversation that I would like to have.”


	6. The Minute Hand

Morning was just starting to light up the sky, and it drove home the paleness of Loki’s skin and the dark half-moons beneath his eyes. Tony’s brain shot automatically to the inexplicable scene transposed over the footage from the spider fight. He’d _known_ as he’d watched the recording that the anomaly had something to do with why Loki had seemed so distressed on the beach, with why he looked so completely drained. He was getting the same feeling now, and information he’d scrounged up from the SHIELD databases supported that. His guess that the spell cloaking Loki had something to do with him projecting an image around him was supported by documented facts, illustrating that the cloak would fluctuate if the person casting it lost concentration. Tony didn’t understand the jargon, but he’d absorbed enough to know he was right. What stuck with him, though, was anything that could unsettle Loki enough to make the fluctuation happen in the first place had to be extreme.

He kept darting glances at Loki from the corners of his eyes while attempting to stay focused on the road. JARVIS had sent one of many catalogued, pre-written messages to Steve as soon as Loki had appeared in the car, but that didn’t really help with the fact there was no subtle way to go for his armor. Why was it that Loki kept showing up when the suit was damaged or risky to reach? His hands tightened on the wheel, as he aimlessly headed further out of the city. All he’d wanted when he’d left the mansion was to go very far very fast and hope his thoughts slowed down proportionately. It had worked for him in the past, but then again, there hadn’t been a supervillain in the passenger seat.

Shit, there was a supervillain in his passenger seat. 

There wasn’t much he could do to defend himself right then. He had the suit with him, just like he always did, but the only way Loki wouldn’t be able to stab him in the throat before he could put it on was if Loki decided to go for a kidney first. Tony liked his throat and his kidneys. 

_Fuck_ , his legs were shaking. He could feel it all the way down to the gas pedal.

“All right, what did you want to talk about?” Tony managed, impressing himself by sounding perfectly calm despite being the furthest thing from it.

Loki stared out the windshield for a while without replying, an indifferent expression on his face that seemed designed to declare to the world how very unenthused he was by its efforts so far. The same undercurrent of frenzied energy that he’d had on the beach was there now, but it was reined in. Again, Tony empathized with that expression, could understand what it was like to try and keep ahold of composure, to dig your nails in until it peeled them back. “How are the surviving cherufe being contained?”

“Really, that’s your question? You didn’t sound too interested before.” He’d barely said two syllables when Tony had mentioned the cherufe on the beach.

“You don’t know the answer, then,” Loki surmised coldly.

Tony did his best to exude chipper-ness. “Sure, I do. I’m just naturally cautious when it comes to sharing.” 

A sharp smile coiled on Loki’s mouth and made Tony’s pulse pick up; the speed gauge’s needle jumped. “No, Stark, you share a fair amount, whether or not you’re conscious of it.” He spread one hand in a magnanimous curl. “And you give of yourself quite freely, from what I’ve witnessed.” Then his hand dropped to rest on a thigh, and he was back to looking preoccupied.

The road was very interesting. It had lines and cars and things. Tony should definitely watch them and not the placement of that hand, and he should absolutely be focused on staying calm and not on the damage Loki could do if the fancy struck. “Seriously though…” he redirected. “You popped into my car this early in the morning to talk about the cherufe? Last time I brought them up, you looked like I’d suggested china patterns as a fascinating topic for discussion.”

“And if you were willing to talk about them at the time, it can’t be too guarded of a secret.” That was the tone teachers used with kindergarteners. “Answer the question.”

Tony shrugged. “They have a nice, underground, compound zoo thing in a none-of-your-business location a few miles outside the municipality of I’m-not-telling-you.”

“Hmm,” Loki responded, still focused on the road in front of them.

The guy’s whole demeanor struck a dissonant chord in the observant corners of Tony’s mind. “You… _still_ don’t care, do you?” Tony frowned. “You just tossed me the first subject that came to mind. What are you hoping I’ll give away?”

Loki took his sweet time replying to that. When he did, it sounded strained, dragging against the grain even though it didn’t get any less icy. “You are inquisitive by nature, correct?”

“It’s, uh… fundamental to who I am, yeah.” Tony flexed his fingers against the wheel and very carefully did not add any of the dozen things that occurred to him just then. Loki had probably meant that question rhetorically, which meant there’d probably be a follow-up. Tony wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that. Who knew how often Loki actively participated in a conversation like this?

“And are you naturally suspicious as well?”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted, seeing no harm in confirming what most everyone already knew. “It’s a great combination in a lot of areas, but not so much in others. Relationships, for instance.” Then, wryly, “It’s handy for ending them though.”

“Then you understand my predicament.”

His brain put on the brakes, but luckily for the two of them and the surrounding cars, his foot didn’t. “Huh?”

The answering expression from Loki was either amused or condescending. “Rumors of your eloquence have been somewhat overstated.”

A barrage of responses to that filed through Tony’s mind to be analyzed: that he could tell from the marginally less angular set of Loki’s shoulders that he was disconcerted by something, that he knew Loki wasn’t unflappable because otherwise that anomaly wouldn’t have appeared in the footage, that at least twice when he was upset he’d shown up like he was looking for company, that Thor’s stories had painted a picture for Tony that was different from the one Thor saw but still wasn’t a portrait of a man without redeeming qualities. There were a lot of things that Tony could be eloquent about right then.

Instead, Tony said, “It’s my understated qualities people need to worry about.”

“How comforting,” Loki remarked with feigned relief that, for a split second, upstaged the predatory fervor that made him seem so alien. “With your arrogance, that’s few worries indeed.”

Tony steeled himself for the next question; this was probably the point where banter hour needed to get a clue. “Loki, why are you here?”

The brief stint of humor bled away, made Loki’s face blank. He didn’t reply, simply returned his focus to the road.

With what was, in his humble opinion, an amount of patience to be lauded, Tony waited three more intersections before he said, “Okay, look. In past encounters, you have thrown me out of a window, hijacked my tower for your nefarious purposes, messed around in my friend’s head, attacked my planet, and _killed a friend of mine_ , but despite all of that I am trying to have an honest-to-god conversation here, no pun intended.” His tone was forceful, but it wasn’t callous; the knowledge that he was using that tone with someone who could possibly kill him with an eyelash only accentuated the babble. “Did I summon the cavalry? No. Are there SHIELD helicopters bearing down---”

“---I cloaked your vehicle,” Loki commented dismissively. “They wouldn’t be able to locate us.”

“Unsettling, but the point is that I’m making an effort.” Tony swallowed, and he was still shaking, but he felt slightly more grounded by the talking. “Are you going to make an effort? Because if not, you might want to get out of this cursed Maserati before an undead goliath sewer gator explodes through the asphalt to add the cherry on top of the delightful ice cream sundae that has been my morning.”

“Stark.” Loki’s voice was low, had a vague rasp. “Be quiet.”

“You know what? I don’t think I will.” Tony gripped the wheel so hard it hurt, took a turn more aggressively than he meant to. “You keep showing up randomly, and so far there hasn’t been a damn thing I can do about that except roll with it. Well, guess what, the way I roll with things is with pseudo-coherent rants. Either let me know when you decide to pop in or deal with it.”

“I’m trying, curse you,” Loki _snarled_ , his body language snapping from frozen to feral as he twisted in the seat. Tony kept his eyes on the road, but barely, all of his senses dialing up the volume in the message that this was a fight or flight scenario. “My first inclination was to gut you and find my solution in your remains. Be content with my silence.”

Tony barked out a laugh a little too breathy not to be hysterical, his entire body tensing. In an attempt to stamp it out with decisiveness, he steered them into a parking garage. The man occupying the box by the entrance didn’t show any sign that he’d registered their presence, and Loki apparently approved of the choice, because with a wave of his hand, the bar lifted to let them through. “I panic with babbling, you panic with violence. Got it,” Tony replied, finally, as he parked.

“This is not panic, Stark.”

“Desperation, then,” he amended, taking the key out of the ignition.

The fingers of one hand twitched as though Loki was considering the weight of a knife. “Have you no concept of self-preservation?”

Tony shrugged, realized he was white-knuckling the wheel, and let go as nonchalantly as he could manage. “It’s been debated.”

“You are an opportunist and my enemy,” Loki noted coldly. “My reluctance to speak cannot surprise you.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He said it calm acceptance because it was true. “What surprises me is that you have something to say that’s important enough to warrant this.”

Loki stilled, unnaturally so. “It’s a recent development.”

Tony waited to see if he’d continue, and when he didn’t, asked with as little pressure as he could, “How recent?”

“Several hours.” The answer came out like an indifferent factoid, but the unconcern didn’t reach those green eyes.

If it had only been a few hours, then showing up had probably been a pretty impulsive move on Loki’s part. Whatever had happened, it must have been intense. Loki seemed like the kind of guy who plotted things out. “Are you planning on telling me, or are we just going to talk around it?” Tony ventured, trying to pretend he was talking to Bruce or Steve. “I’m up for either. It’d just be nice to know ahead of time.”

The utter lack of a reply, with words or movement, gave a solid impression of hesitation; it looked flat out wrong on Loki.

Tony sighed, had a short-lived glimpse of the chasm of panic he’d been jauntily skating across the whole conversation, elected to continue skating and analyze it later, and figured it was as good a time as any to push his luck. “You don’t know what the smart move is, right? That’s what you’re trying to figure out. Whatever it is that’s on your mind, you feel like it’s going to make you vulnerable, and you really don’t want to give that over to me.” He leaned back in his seat, rested an arm against the door, flicked a hand to tap knuckles against the window. “I get it. I know I won’t take advantage of whatever has you spooked, but I can’t expect you to believe that.” Wrangling his nerve back into action, Tony angled his body to face his passenger. “When you see a possible threat, you react with extremes, and all the two of us have to judge each other by at this point is blood and banter. Not exactly a solid foundation.”

Save for a quick quirk at the corner of Loki’s mouth, his face went even more statuesque. “I’ve made do with less.”

That didn’t sit well with Tony. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’ve chosen to,” Loki said smoothly, some of that standard composure creeping back in like Tony had given him an out, given him a familiar train of thought. “I’ve never been a moral paragon, but even I had drawn lines in the sand that I wouldn’t cross. And I never did cross them until I learned that the individuals I counted as family had been blotting out those lines and worse for the entirety of my life. For longer. I’ve chosen to accept the reality of my situation.”

This was where it got hard to pretend he was talking to one of the team; if this was a friend he’d put his hand on a shoulder or offer a drink, neither of which was an option right then. Tony was pretty sure if tried anything like out-right comfort, he’d get shanked. “Not everyone is like that.”

Loki sneered, dangerous, derisive. “Are you claiming to be a greater man than Odin?”

“No, I’m claiming to be a different man.”

That earned him a look of consideration, avid calculation. It made Tony feel like he was under a glass slide. “Yes.” The sneer gave way to an ill-fitting smile. “That can’t be denied.”

Tony held the stare for as long as it took him to realize he wasn’t breathing and really needed to. He’d had a lot of practice holding his ground in front of powerful people, but this didn’t fit into the same dimensions, and he darted his eyes to the side under the pretense of checking out the rest of the garage. “All right, so you obviously have a lot on your mind right now, and it’s still fresh. Why don’t we split up, and then we can try this conversation again later?”

“When?”

He blinked at him, refocusing on his face. “You’re asking?”

“Apparently, scheduling is the secret to averting your rambling,” Loki said in a tone that was damn near conspiratorial. Tony was pretty sure he could make the same yearly salary if he got paid for every one of Loki’s mood swings. He looked serious, though--- not that Tony had any illusions as to whether or not he knew Loki well enough to be able to identify when he was acting and when he wasn’t.

Flashing a perfected smile, Tony suggested, “I can take the car out next Saturday. In the afternoon.” Then, because he’d obviously taken leave of his senses, “Around the time when people might, say, eat something. Sometimes together.”

“Then until next Saturday, I suppose.” Loki paused, and after a moment, in a completely different register, added, “The ring suits you, Stark.”

Tony was left staring with a startled expression at the empty seat that had contained Loki a split-second before, the ring in question a cold band on his finger.

\---  
\----  
\---

Denver was still dark when he entered the lab. The glow from the dome lit the room, as self-sufficient as ever. He took several automatic steps forward, his body running through routine as his mind attempted to collect together scattered thoughts and condense them into something understandable, quantifiable. Beneath his feet, the floor was blessedly even and uncluttered. Balance was as fleeting of a thing as his grasp on his current circumstances. 

When he finally had his hands braced on the cool surface of his desk, he allowed himself to sink into the delirious pitch of fear he’d been fighting down since he’d woken up and joined Tony Stark in his car.

The skeleton had said the answer was not to kill Stark.

What option, precisely, did that leave him?

He had severed every tie that he had possessed, had formed new ones based solely off of the personal gain and power to be derived from them. That left little room for trust, a fact that he’d deliberately, carefully cultivated. It was the decision that had led him to Victor and personages like him. There was freedom in that choice, freedom he desired. By what possible means could he discern Stark’s place in the prophecy without betraying that boundary if killing the man was not an option?

Another meeting in the clearing should give him more specific answers in regards to whether Stark’s involvement was in the capacity of enemy or ally. Until then, he simply needed to absorb the information that his survival could be in the hands of a human.

A laugh speared through his teeth like a shout.

“Ridiculous,” he addressed to the room, knuckles white where they gripped the desk’s corners. There was a shiver just under his skin, skittering across his ribs and up his throat. “This man, this one man, cannot possibly provide me with anything I cannot achieve alone.”

Unbidden, memories leapt briefly in a flare within the darker current of fear and scorn, images of all the instances when that particular world view had been proven wrong, chiding him with the familiarity of Thor’s grin, Fandral’s voice, Sif’s words, Hogun’s perspective, Volstagg’s loyalty. He remembered what it was to place trust in people, would never forget the surety of looking at someone and defining them as _friend_ even if their love for him wasn’t vast, but he wouldn’t deceive himself into thinking that was a luxury he could afford any longer. He’d been betrayed as certainly as he had betrayed. There were actions he could not forgive and that others had no reason to forgive from him. That life was closed to him, in no small part because he had shut and barred the door himself.

Stark, a mortal, a performer, a trickster in his own right, was no _key_ , and if on his return to the clearing, the skeleton dared suggest it---

“What would I do, precisely?” he asked of the air. “Deny the words of a creature that is unable to lie? Give myself over to death without an attempt to save my own life? Out of disbelief, pride?” Another laugh perched precariously on the tip of his tongue and tumbled over. “A familiar course for me, at least.”

The wood of the desk cracked as it splintered in indents beneath his fingers. He loosened his grip and pushed away, pacing around the dome. 

The skeleton was his best source of information, but the last dream had revealed more than the part Stark might play. It had shown him that the skeleton had restrictions, that there were other powers at work that may attempt to censor it. Timing in the dreams had always been critical, and if the chains had appeared when the subject of Stark was broached, then that could only mean that it was important. It also meant that the will-o’-the-wisp’s bearer acted independently, was not simply a drone.

His magic seeped out from him the sharper his pacing became, the dome’s inscriptions blazing to brighter shades of purple as it devoured the excess. 

It would be pointless to torment himself with uncertain variables. He’d have answers to add to his dissection of events once he’d gotten his restless sleep.

The thought of attempting to go to sleep early immediately called up the image of hands digging into his chest cavity, and his steps faltered before the nausea of it abated. No, that wasn’t an option.

Loki threw a hand out, and Victor’s book flew into it. Without a break in momentum, he flipped the book open and pushed through the door, letting it slam behind him as walked out onto the porch. 

The Chastenet Compendium was a thin volume, but the information inside it was indispensible if his plan for the venom was to work. It presented a collection of guides for the induction of hypnosis and sleep, as well as retaining one’s abilities in those conditions. If he were to use the venom in a spell to increase his clairsensing, and could maintain the spell long enough to reach the clearing, it was possible that he could have a discussion with the skeleton without the limitation of yes or no answers. He wouldn’t be able to manage something so complicated as telepathy, but with accessory spellwork, he made for a passable empath.

An issue would be how quickly the effort would drain his stores. He would have only a small amount of time, and there would be a recovery period afterward. When considered in addition to the fact his magic had hitherto been cut off from him completely in the dreams, the ordeal would almost certainly be arduous.

Loki sat on the porch stairs, set a few orbs of green light to hover in the air around him for illumination, and propped the book open in his lap. The more words he absorbed, the more his state of mind stabilized until the panic was only a dull hum under a litany of formulas. 

Thirty minutes into his reading, a dead bird hit the ground at his feet, wings scratching lines in the dirt as its head lolled.

He glanced up to stare at it, then lifted his head to find Damson shifting cautiously on her legs several feet away. “Is this a gift?” Loki murmured.

Damson clicked once and scurried past him into the lab, leaving the dead bird behind.

Loki leaned forward and held an open palm in the air over the small corpse. Slowly, it crystallized in shades of blue and gold until the flesh, feathers, and organs melted into the ground beneath it and left a jewel in their wake. When the process was complete, Loki twitched the tips of his fingers and its wings lifted as though on strings. The reflection of green from the orbs catching in the crystal calmed him further. He called it up into his hand, and held it close, the facets shining. He’d once made a similar gift for his mother, without the aid of a corpse, and for a moment, the thought made him smile; it persisted for only the length of time it took him to remember how very far away she was.

\---  
\----  
\---

“Thor’s hitting a giant snake in the face with his hammer on the tv over the bar,” Pepper informed him as she took a bite of pasta. The restaurant wasn’t particularly fancy, but the uproarious cheering as Thor apparently kicked some ass would have seemed more appropriate in a stadium even if they’d been eating in a sports bar.

“I’ll be interested if the snake has a flame-thrower mounted on its head.” Tony stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. “Otherwise? Meh.” Sentences blessedly kept coming out of his mouth, and he thanked his talent and lucky stars that he was capable of it.

“It concerns me that this is mundane to you.” There was a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. Then she set down her fork and looked at him seriously. “All right, what is it you’re dying to tell me?”

Tony shook his head in transparent confusion over his glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Well, fuck.

“You’re jittery,” she pointed out with an accusatory jab of cutlery. “You’ve got gossip.”

He grimaced, and it must have conveyed a lot.

Pepper sat back a little, changed tracks instantly. “Sorry, Tony. I thought it was about crazy antics at the mansion, I didn’t realize it was serious.”

“It’s serious,” Tony confirmed, locking his focus firmly on the steak. Whenever he was wavering between sharing a secret or keeping one, being around Pepper seemed to tip him in the sharing direction. Knowing, implicitly, that someone could be trusted with anything could do that to a guy. “And classified. And there’s more than one ‘it’, actually.”

Subtle worry etched lines in her face, but she held up a hand and said, “I won’t push.”

That was probably a good thing. He desperately wanted to fill her in on what Fury had told him about the targeting of Bruce and the Hulk’s supporters, and not talking about Loki ambushing him in the car was about five seconds from bursting a vein. When the shit hit the fan, Pepper gave him some perspective, and right then, he needed perspective. He just didn’t know if it was right to ask for it.

He’d written up the promised report about the conversation with Loki and handed it off to Steve before he’d left to meet Pepper, so he was expecting that exciting follow-up once he got home. There wasn’t anything stopping him from talking to Pepper about it too, except for the fact it felt like he wasn’t supposed to. It was one of those gut reactions that didn’t have to be explicable to still be heavy. Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that Loki had been going out on a limb earlier and that parading their conversation around would be like throwing it back in his face.

“Are you okay?” How she managed to sound concerned without the maddening overtone of curiosity and overbearing sympathy, he’d never know but always appreciate.

“Worried, Pep,” he answered, putting his fork and knife down when he realized he’d started cutting mashed potatoes at some point, and picking up his glass again instead. “Worried, protective-angry, nervous, but… exhilarated, depending on which subject. For either one of them, though?” He aired out a smile and hoped it was convincing. “I have a hell of a lot of work to do.”

Pepper didn’t look convinced, but she also didn’t look like she’d be reneging on the not-pushing-it. “Just tell me you’ve got support from people it’s not classified from.”

“I do,” Tony assured her, warming at the reminder of the fact that, yes, he did; he thought he might for the rest of his life, and wasn’t that a surprising development? A team, he was part of a _team_ , and they had crappy circumstances sometimes, but when they did, they had crappy circumstances together.

“Good.” Another bite of pasta later, Pepper rerouted the conversation with, “What do you want to do about dessert?”

He latched onto the topic change and let his body relax into a mildly pathetic droop. “Something that tastes like coffee. And some coffee.”

Pepper flashed a smile at him that would have led to a kiss once upon a time before they switched to separate fairy tales. “Done and done.”

As the meal progressed, Tony did tell her about the reactions of the rest of the team to his decision about viewing Loki less categorically as a villain. Pepper took a stance somewhere between Clint and Steve: worried and unconvinced, but ultimately respecting his choice. She asked him a lot of questions, rapid fire, in that precise, dissecting way she sometimes got, and whatever she interpreted from his answers must have been good because the tenseness left her posture.

By the time dessert was placed on their table, they’d segued into work stories, which had more tidbits about a certain charming paralegal than Tony remembered. The longer it went on, the clearer it became that Pepper might not actually realize she was doing it. It was endearing in that special way that made Tony want to grin (happy for his friend) and break something (not examining the why) at the same time.

She kissed his cheek before they said goodbye, locking their fingers together briefly before letting go. Tony settled on the grin and started to work on letting go too.

\---  
\----  
\---

Loki arrived in England’s living room just as the nation was hurrying down the stairs with a briefcase in hand. 

“Are the bearers of a will-o’-the-wisp bound by rules?” he inquired as soon as his presence had been noted. The quicker he could obtain this information, the sooner he could get to work on the experiment with the venom. Restrictions on the skeleton could affect the spell, and he wanted to examine those possibilities before he dreamed that night. It would give him more to test if the opportunity presented itself.

Shoulders rolling in a slump of irritation, England drew to a stop on the last step and glared as he grumbled, “Oh, for the love of--- yes, sometimes they are bound by rules.” He waved a hand. “Make it quick, won’t you, I have a meeting to get to.”

“You’ll take as long as is needed to answer my questions,” Loki snarled, tense, harrowed by a lack of restful sleep and an abundance of stress, and a hairsbreadth away from getting blood on England’s carpet. “What sort of rules?”

England huffed and shuffled sideways into the kitchen, tightening his tie and setting his briefcase down on the counter. “They have to be honest, as I’ve said before. The fae might also forbid them from giving direct information. Will-o’-the-wisps are used often in prophetic dreams---” the tone here suggested he’d guessed the source of Loki’s preoccupation, but Loki had more pressing matters to attend to before he could address that instance of presumption, “---and so, oftentimes the bearer may find themselves unable to answer express questions as to the meaning or content. The person the dream is for can puzzle it out themselves, but they can’t just say _tell me what all this is about_. That would defeat the purpose of whatever lesson the fae are trying to impart.”

“What would happen if the bearer disobeyed?” he asked with the skeleton’s chains in mind.

“They’d suffer, I imagine,” England answered easily while he retrieved a glass of water. As he turned and leaned against the sink, he surveyed Loki standing on the room’s threshold. “Most bearers wouldn’t be able to, however. That would take either rare levels of will power or a wealth of experience in resisting the fae.”

Loki nodded, considering. That should not prove too great of an obstacle. He would simply need to continue his questions as he had previously. It would serve him little to pressure the skeleton into acting as it had done during their last encounter. Embittering himself to his only source of knowledge in regards to the prophecy would be ill-advised. Even if it disobeyed its masters of its own volition, separating Loki from the resulting pain was not guaranteed.

“Anything else?” England set his glass down in the sink. “I need to get across London traffic in a half hour.” He lifted a hand and tapped at the watch on his wrist. “Time’s ticking.”

The color bled from Loki’s face, and he froze.

Every one of the myriad of thoughts he had been processing went silent as his eyes fixated on the precise angle of England’s fingers, on the exact flick of his wrist, on the sheer familiarity of that motion. _Time’s tick-ing_.

One tap for every syllable, with the appropriate emphasis given in speech.

The skeleton’s indication for the will-o’-the-wisp’s disappearance.

“Are you… all right?” A hum of defensive magic trespassed into the air around them as England straightened, abruptly wary. The hues in Loki’s vision sharpened in his shock, made the shape of England’s body and the lines of the kitchen saturate and blur.

He could grip England’s tie, choke off the air supply, slit his throat in the confusion, take him back to Denver before he’d had time to heal, impale him to the floor inside the dome to prevent his escape.

“Loki?”

There would be a challenge in finding the right sort of torture, of course. England had most likely experienced a variety in his lifetime, but Loki would find a solution to that simply enough. He was proficient in many procedures, and it would present the chance for an assortment of new experiments.

“Whatever I’ve done to inspire this, it wasn’t intentional.”

But from this point on he knew the truth, and whatever time he hadn’t had to question England in the clearing, he could now have in the waking hours.

“ _Loki_.”

Only then did Loki realize he’d coated the tips of his fingers in magic and embedded them in England’s stomach, warm blood blossoming through the crisply starched shirt and trailing down his fingers in rivulets.

England’s face was pale with pain, and there was raw fear in the shine of his eyes but also, illogically, concern. “What’s wrong?”

Loki grounded himself and then watched the play of emotion on the nation’s face, rapt. “You don’t know,” he breathed, comprehension dawning.

“Know _what_?” The way England moved as he rasped the question pushed a surge of blood from the wound, and he gasped, gripped at Loki’s wrist.

With a quick shift, Loki withdrew his hand and stepped away, watched England hit his knees on the floor.

The skeleton had given itself over to the chains to help him--- _England_ had risked himself to help him. Some… future or diverted version, perhaps, but still a version of the man bleeding onto the kitchen tile in front of him. How long did it take the creatures in the woods to feast on England until he was nothing but bone? Perhaps that was the reason the will-o’-the-wisp went dark: to prevent Loki from recognizing him as he healed. Damn it all, he’d phrased the questions incorrectly. He’d asked if the skeleton was Midgardian, and then _assumed_ that had meant human…

“My apologies,” Loki said in a whisper, and he decided to be elsewhere.

\---

The first time he fell asleep that night, he was distracted by the fact that he was now able to distinguish a faraway scream from the crash of ocean, a scream Loki was fairly certain he’d discovered the origins of. The epiphany that the torture of his dream was shared robbed him of awareness, and he was killed by hands grasping his throat just as he left the path.

The second time he fell asleep, his tongue was torn out, and he slumped against a tree to die rather than write his questions in the dark, bloodied soil.

The third time he fell asleep, he entered the clearing with nothing more than claw marks across his face, reaching the safety of the light at a speed he hadn’t yet managed.

He stood, straight, composed, prideful in a manner that the skeleton, who had arguably seen him vulnerable on more occasions than anyone save Thor in the waking world, could not be fooled by. “Are you England?” Loki asked, despite knowing the answer.

The skeleton nodded crisply.

Verification gave him solidity that for a moment drove away the reminder of what was waiting in the dark. “A future version?”

A nod.

“Less than a decade?” he reduced.

A nod.

“Less than five years?”

Another nod.

“Less than one?”

Again, the answer was yes, and that sent Loki’s mind spinning through the implication that there was a short timeframe on these occurrences.

“Less than half?” he asked with a slight shudder as something made a hungry noise from the trees.

A shake of the head, no.

Seven to twelve months then… That meant that he could achieve a more specific answer at a later date. “Do we have some future dealing that results in you being cast in this dream?”

England nodded, and now that Loki knew to look for it, he saw a spot of flesh he’d once believed to be a sign of decay reattach itself to his cheek. Of course… He’d posed a question as to whether the skeleton was the _dream form_ of a person that he knew, but someone indentured to the fae could surely be moved in their entirety, not simply replicated. 

With a finger of bone, England pointed at the center of his chest.

“Yes, Stark,” Loki interpreted. “Is the influence he has over the prophecy in the capacity of an enemy?”

England shook his head.

“As an ally?”

A nod, and immediately after, England lowered his hand and tapped at his wrist in those same three beats.

In the moments before the light died, Loki gave in to a compulsion he thought had died in Asgard’s halls and said, with little inflection, “Thank you.”

\---  
\----  
\---

Tony watched the security feed four times through before he really started making notes. If he was being honest with himself, that had less to do with absorbing information and more to do with the fact that he was having trouble concentrating through the unreserved need to do something to help and knowing that the fact the recording existed meant there was nothing he could do to help him. 

Dr. Bernard Hays had been sitting at his desk with a small, white and green tea cup of something he kept adding cinnamon to while he rifled through a stack of papers. He’d just lifted the glass from the saucer to his mouth when he tilted his head as if in confusion, eyes narrowing behind the huge spectacles. He set the papers down and said something.

Tony saw the man-shaped distortion in the recording well before Hays registered that he wasn’t alone. It was nothing like the anomaly that had heralded Loki. This one wasn’t misplaced images. The impression it left with Tony was of a heat haze, the air shimmering and roiling over the outline of a person.

Blurring the distance between them in a brushstroke of buckling color, the murderer rushed forward at an impossible speed, and on contact blood welled up in large rends across Hays’ throat, chest, and stomach. The doctor tipped backwards in his chair, toppling to the floor and rolling onto his side. His eyes were already glossy when he hit the carpet. The distortion paused over Hays’ body as if watching the blood pool and then dispersed, folding in on itself. In total, the recording comprised three minutes.

“Okay, JARVIS,” Tony started when he was able to tear his attention away from the dead man and had gotten the searing wave of anger under control. “I want stills, screen-by-screen. And what is that music playing on the feed?”

“ _Done, sir. The music is Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, beginning at the song’s point of sixteen minutes and twenty seconds._ ”

Tony’s brow furrowed as he watched it through again. “It’s the only audio. We can hear the music, but not the doctor, not the chair falling, not the glass breaking on the floor, nothing. Just the music.” He beat out a distracted drum solo with his fingertips to the piano part, and then went on with, “What’s sticking out about this, besides the invisible murderer, is that this security network wasn’t supposed to be able to record audio.”

“ _Correct, sir._ ”

“So why is there music?” he wondered aloud, gesturing to the screen.

“ _It is a mystery._ ”

He snapped his fingers. “The student that Fury mentioned, the one who died in the car crash.” Tony replayed the security feed, following the distortion exclusively. If they could find evidence of a similar anomaly in context with the other murders, he’d have more to give SHIELD. SHIELD had probably already searched for it, but they may have missed something that his obsession would pinpoint. “What was her name?”

“ _Jenna Demayo._ ”

He paused the video before the distortion reached Hays, restarted. “Do we have traffic cams?”

“ _No, sir._ ”

“Anything from the lake where the mother, uh---” he checked the file in his lap, “---Candice Crawford died?”

“ _No, sir._ ”

“Damn…” Swiveling in his chair, Tony turned from the screen. “Do we have any idea if the music was playing in the apartment? Did Hays have a sound system?”

“ _Director Fury made a note that there was not one present._ ”

“Okay. Okay, so…” Tony rubbed his eyes . “Same battery of tests we used on the footage from the spider fight. What can you give me on the distortion?”

“ _It comprises the build of a man at a height of approximately six feet and three inches. The width suggests moderate musculature. Contours around the body imply a suit._ ”

Tony stood and took the journey three tables over to where his coffee was waiting patiently to save him. “Let’s start compiling everything to send in a file to Fury. Keep people out of the lab while I’m working. Throw in that explosives warning if anyone comes to the door.”

“ _Yes, sir_.”

\---

Half past midnight, JARVIS told him there was a bird in the lab.

Tony was ready to be confused until he looked up and actually saw it.

In shape it looked like a robin, but it was comprised of blue and gold gemstones, lit up by an internal green light. Tony remembered Thor’s story of Loki and a road of sapphires, and couldn’t help reaching out to it. The way it flew to land in his open hand defied what his brain could feasibly define as reality, its wings moving with the fluidity of feathers despite their substance.

It chirped at him, and as its beak opened, the green light from inside spilled out in tendrils until Tony was reading words hanging in the air.

_A request for your company on Monday, at 7:00 pm, on the beach from our previous encounter._

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tony stammered out before he’d really given it the amount of thought it probably deserved.

The writing dissolved as soon as the words left his mouth, returning to its jeweled vessel. When the glow was completely contained, the bird took flight from Tony’s hand, vanishing from sight somewhere near the ceiling.

“I guess next Saturday wasn’t soon enough,” Tony said quietly, staring at the place where it had disappeared.

A split-second later, it was like someone had given him permission to break the dam, and he sank forward to rest his head in his hands, began to properly digest the last twenty-four hours, and had a proper freak out.


	7. Baited breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long... Some things happened that tore major chunks out of my writing time, but I've already written half of the next chapter, so that post shouldn't take anywhere near as long.

By 4:35 am Saturday morning, his brief foray into freaking-the-fuck-out had resulted in the near-completion of Robot Hulk Dog (tentatively named Doug after the three nights in a row last month that Hulk had wanted to watch Up). When he worked through blueprints, it was like he was mapping out his own worries into the schematics, and every adjustment, every change, helped to tidy his brain. 4:45 am marked the transition from resolving personal problems to exhaustion-induced-mania, and the last time Tony put down the tablet left Doug neon green.

Bruce sent him a text about breakfast, but immediately after he read it, a new round of tests on the Beauregard ring reached completion, and Tony forgot the message until several hours too late. He’d barely had enough time to feel guilty before he started getting a barrage of emails from SHIELD about the data he’d sent concerning the killings. A coffee cup and some biscotti appeared at his elbow shortly after he’d gotten a reply sent to Fury, along with some contracts that needed his signatures, so Pepper had walked in at some point. That was what made him sit back and take stock of his surroundings and state of mind for a few minutes. He got lost in his work often enough, but if he was in deep enough to overlook _Pepper_ checking in on him, then he wasn’t just feeding obsession; he was in flat-out, desperate-for-a-distraction mode, and that was dangerous.

It was time to put the avoidance aside and do some evaluating. Loki had sought him out, independent of a battle, and attempted to have what might have been a meaningful conversation. When that hadn’t gone as planned, he’d scheduled another meeting. Whatever was happening with Loki, he apparently wanted to see Tony. Ulterior motives were probably doing a Rockette routine inside Loki’s skull, but the fact of the matter was that he’d placed value on Tony regardless of intent. That was heavy. That was important. Tony really hoped he didn’t fuck it up. 

Just before noon, Steve came into the lab, bearing a cheeseburger and fries that Tony gladly accepted.

“The report?” Tony asked, cutting to the chase before popping a few smaller fries into his mouth.

“The report,” Steve confirmed as he rubbed at the back of his neck with his standard awkwardness and took a seat. Cap had adjusted to being in a position of command in their little group, but outside the field, he was still at a loss sometimes. “It worries me that he can just teleport places.”

Tony could agree with that. He could _definitely_ agree with that. “And it worries me, but there isn’t much we can do. SHIELD has a few tidbits in its database about ways to prevent teleporting inside of buildings, but there’s nothing solid.” He shrugged a shoulder. “There aren’t very many people alive with the magical chops for it, or the memory. Want a fry?”

“No, thank you,” Steve said mildly. A weighted pause, followed by, “I noticed you weren’t as specific about your conversation this time.”

“Oh, I wasn’t?” Nonchalance didn’t sound as smooth in his voice when he was sleep-deprived. “My bad.”

Steve leveled a stern look at him. “Tony, you promised me details---”

“---wow, Steve, I never pegged you for a gossip---”

“---but if you’re not going to give them, then at least give me a reason why.”

There was a light clatter as Tony tossed the tablet onto the surface of his desk to mingle with its tablet friends and devoted both hands to lunch. “Felt wrong.”

“Wrong, how?” Steve pressed, with that little furrow in his brow that meant he was preemptively worried but trying not to go in with a pre-formed opinion.

Tony took a bite out of his burger, chewed, swallowed, before asking, “If you were trying to earn the trust of a guy with serious trust issues, would you blab about it the minute he showed some vulnerability?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Steve answered honestly.

“So, I don’t want to blab about it.” Tony made a point of not putting on a bullshit smile, letting Steve get a truthful impression. “He didn’t say anything involving SHIELD or the Avengers, and neither did I. He didn’t attack me, and I didn’t attack him. Mission is still a go.”

The line of Steve’s mouth thinned thoughtfully as he looked Tony over. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.” Tony managed to do nothing but eat for a solid twenty seconds before he clarified, “Really?”

Steve’s smile was one of those smiles that got an angelic host chorus in the movies. “I said I trusted you, Tony. I meant it.” He fidgeted with some cords lying across the desk, and it didn’t matter what he was actually doing around technology, Steve’s bearing screamed _what is this madness_. “Just remember who you’re dealing with, and keep me updated.”

“Already made that promise, Steve,” Tony reminded him cheekily with a smile of his own. “Let’s not get redundant.”

The smile devolved into a smirk. “So far being redundant is the only way to get something report-related to stick in that memory of yours.”

“Good burger,” Tony diverted. “There’s nothing like a good burger.”

Steve _hmmed_ patiently and picked up a tablet. “And there’s nothing like very bright green?”

“Gift for Bruce and the Hulk,” Tony said, gesturing with a fry, eyeing the lettuce-to-tomato ratio on his cheeseburger. “You remember how sad it was when that lady was too scared to let Hulk pet her dog? This one’s going to be a robot. A robot golden retriever, technically.”

“Oh, sure. Makes sense.”

“I love being surrounded by people who accept the words that come out of my mouth.”

Swiping a finger across the screen, Steve watched the blueprints go by with a look of curiosity that absorbed a whole hell of a lot even if he didn’t have a foundation for the more technical aspects. He spent a few minutes reading through Tony’s admittedly brilliant notes and humming a song off key before he asked, hesitantly, “What are you going to say to Thor?”

“Same thing I told you,” Tony answered with a little jolt that was supposed to be shrug but didn’t have the same levity. “Giving Thor details would be worse than giving them to you, a guy Loki barely knows.”

“You realize that this is a drastic turnaround from where you were twenty-four hours ago?” Steve pointed out with that same gentle sternness.

“I didn’t really have much to share twenty-four hours ago. This is the first time it’s gotten personal. Legit personal,” he specified. “Not just speculation.”

“When we face him in the field, there’s the team, and you’ve got your armor,” Steve got out in a semi-rush, like it had been on his mind a while. “This is different.”

“Yeah, it is,” Tony agreed with a sigh, setting his cheeseburger down and looking Steve in the eye. “And I chose to make the attempt. Believe me when I say, I get how dangerous it is. I can look at your face right now and tell you’re wondering if it’s an unnecessary risk. Well,” he accentuated as he leaned back to cross his arms. “It’s not. Even if we can’t make a friend out of the guy like Thor wants us to, it can’t hurt to try and land him somewhere in the neutral category. Think of all the damage we could avert if he didn’t feel like we’re outright enemies. He’s powerful as hell, Steve.” Tony swallowed, almost grabbed a fry for something to do, and stopped himself for the sake of the appearance of certainty. “We don’t want to fight him unless we have to, and Thor can’t be the only guy making the effort. There’s too much history there. Maybe he needs something new. I can be new.”

“Tony, you already sold me the pitch.” His hands lifted in a placating gesture. “I’m on board. But I’m a worrier. You know I’m a worrier. You point it out to me all the time.”

“Not _all_ the time.”

“You made me a Den Mother nametag and a novelty mug.” And he recognized Steve’s toss towards humor as the olive branch it was.

Tony scoffed animatedly. “Hey. Bruce did the nametag, and Clint helped design the novelty cup. You can’t leave the three of us alone together and not expect mockery to occur.”

In a bid for diversion that made Tony proud, Steve reached out and grabbed the first tablet his hand touched, and asked in an overly interested voice, “Wow, what’s this?”

“Uh.” Tony paled but went valiantly on with, “A puzzle box.”

“It looks neat,” Steve complimented with an earnestness that warmed the heart.

“That’s because it is neat.” Okay, that felt wrong coming off the tongue. “Awesome. I meant awesome.”

“Is it a present to go with the robot dog?”

“Uh. No. It’s…” He scratched at the side of his head, darted his stare to the table before lifting it again. “The return gift? For Loki?”

“Oh.” Steve blinked once before, “Well, I’m sure he’ll like it.”

“Here’s to hoping,” Tony said as pluckily as he could manage, in that habitual combo of confident veneer and subterranean abyss of doubt. When he thought of all the ways this thing with Loki could go horribly wrong, his brain highlighted every dig anyone meaningful had ever made at his self-efficacy. He simultaneously got the sense that he was the best and the worst person to be doing this. Then again, that toss-up was probably part of what made him possibly the most _fitting_ person to do it.

“Hey, Tony?” Steve ventured, and there was a solidity to his voice that was very steadying. “I saw a lot of guys change during the war. Good guys becoming bad guys, and sometimes becoming good guys again. Occasionally the reverse, but what I’m trying to say is… what you’re doing? It’s possible, and it’s admirable, and having a friend like you can’t hurt the situation any.”

Tony let out a slow breath that became a one-syllable laugh. “Remember when we used to be assholes to each other?”

“Your beard is awful,” Steve responded, and he was grinning.

\---

The whole group had dinner together.

Judging from Bruce’s arm bracketing him with ease on the back of the couch, Tony wasn’t as in the doghouse as he’d thought from that discussion about the puzzle box (which he’d been worried about even though Bruce had said they were okay) or from the missed text. Tony balanced a beer on Bruce’s knee, the novelty of how calmly _still_ the guy could be only slightly worn off. Natasha and Clint were having a discussion in code on the other half of the couch, not because their conversation was classified, but because the code was an entertaining challenge. They were also speaking in iambic pentameter, and Tony noticed Steve’s head bobbing slightly on the beats from the armchair cattycorner to Clint.

When Thor came back in, takeout boxes stacked on his arms like food-filled towers, Tony had to fight not to cheer. The cheeseburger hadn’t been too long ago, but Tony wasn’t entirely sure what he’d eaten before that. There’d been lunch with Pepper at some point yesterday, but everything was blurring together. He could go days eating nothing but scraps when he was absorbed in work, but the minute he came up for air, hunger slapped him in the face. It was rude, really. After all the cool armor he made it, the least his body could do was ease him into the feeling of his stomach eating itself.

“Dinner, my friends!” Thor announce-boomed.

“Here, here!” Tony raised his hands and made grabby motions. “No, seriously, _here_. Gimme.” Thor passed close by, and Tony surged up to grab a box and plastic fork off the top, revealed to be lo mein. He dug in with enthusiastic abandon, napkins be damned. If food got caught in his beard, then that was just a hazard of being ruggedly handsome.

Thor unloaded the boxes onto the table and then plopped down onto the love-seat to Tony’s left. As soon as the boxes were down, the Avengers converged on them, and Tony was thankful he’d grabbed a box early. They scarfed down the food, passing selections on down the line like a conveyer belt. Their weekly television night started off slow with re-runs and picked up speed with a Bond movie and some nuggets of wisdom from Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn in an action-fashion combo made possible by the power of the recall button. Natasha retained unbiased control over the remote and ruled justly.

It was a good night; it was exactly what Tony needed. He reclined back into Bruce, Natasha kicked her feet up into his lap, Clint recited lines from the movie to the others’ fond exasperation, and Steve and Thor tried to reason through what happened on the screen with each other and no outside input. There was still a thin haze of recent events settling over the foreground of Tony’s mind, but right then, that didn’t hold the same weight.

It was home, and in its way, it was perfect.

\---

It was Sunday afternoon before he heard from Fury again. JARVIS let him know who was calling, and immediately upon picking up, Tony said, “Hey, sorry there wasn’t much I could give you guys. You know how badly I hate admitting not being a pro at something, but it’s definitely not Loki’s modus operandi, and he’s the only one I’ve had any personal experience with, so…”

Fury cut across him, solid, flat. “We’ve got more footage for you.”

That only took a second to sink in. “Who died?”

“A journalist,” Fury answered, and Tony mentally ticked off the levels of anger harnessed beneath the director’s business tone. “Evan Branch. Ordered a cup of coffee from a vendor, crossed the street, and stumbled in front of a bus.” A vicious note of triumph crept in as he said, “This time we have eye-witnesses saying they heard piano and strings. We played them the selection of music, as well as several different pieces by other composers. Eight of the ten identified the Rachmoninov as what they’d heard.”

The connection between the deaths was officially confirmed. Tony clenched his eyes shut as he breathed out, “Okay. Okay, then we’re definitely looking at something magical here.”

“No, that thought hadn’t occurred,” Fury agreed with dry sarcasm. “I’m sending you the footage now, and Agent Romanov will be bringing home a file. She’s been apprised of the situation. If you need legwork done, discuss it with her. You’re too high profile. She’ll know who to get in touch with.”

“Got it,” Tony responded, nodding at nothing.

After Fury hung up, he tried to get back to work and found that he couldn’t. When his hands had hung uselessly over a screen for a few minutes too long, he left the lab, acknowledging that just because he’d been trying not to think about the jewel bird’s message, it didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened. He still needed to give Steve that heads up and maybe mention to Thor that the invitation existed. 

Part of the be-less-idiotically-reckless campaign that Steve and Fury were advocating, doggedly to the point they should exchange friendship bracelets, was the promise of honest information, frequent reports, and what amounted to a super-hero buddy system. If Tony wanted to go to the beach with a supervillain, then he needed to let a buddy know. Normally, Bruce was that buddy, but Tony wanted to get Thor’s take on the bird and what it meant that it could get into his lab because that had scary implications. He could tell Bruce later, much later, whatever size dose of later-ness it would take to make how sick Bruce had looked about Loki less distinct in Tony’s brain; maybe he’d wait until the thought of his lie of omission about the killings wasn’t so raw too, but if he waited for that to happen, he might never speak to Bruce again, and that was unacceptable.

He got himself tossed around the training mats by Clint for about a half-hour, and the sparring cleared his head. It wasn’t as much of a go-to for him as it was for some of his teammates, but sometimes he got the same bizarrely giddy rush from it that he got from a breakthrough in his lab. This was one of his occasions, and when he hit the mat for the last time, he managed to half-topple Clint with him and got a short snap of a laugh from the archer that made Tony feel pretty accomplished. He accepted Clint’s extended hand, grinning. As Clint pulled him to his feet, it was like getting pulled headlong back into composure, pieces clinked into place, and his thoughts stopped chasing each other in circles.

Thor and Steve were in the same place, which was convenient, but also a little nerve-wracking because that meant he’d be telling them at the same time. Whatever the facts about a situation, Tony typically found himself divulging them in different ways between the two of them. That was why, when he left the training room to search different parts of the gym and found them going one-on-one on the basketball court, Tony paused on the sidelines to give himself a moment to reevaluate his spiel.

As Thor darted around Steve to dunk, he caught sight of Tony on the spin, and his grin split a notch wider. “Join us, man of iron!”

Tony quirked a smile at him. “Not right now. I’m still winded from pretending I can hold my own against Clint, sans armor.”

Steve caught the ball on the bounce as it fell through the net, and turned towards him. Whatever vibe Tony was giving off effectively turned Steve’s smile upside down. “Did you want to talk about something?”

There were a lot of ways to beat around the bush on that, but Tony decided to plow straight through. It was getting easier the more he did it. Besides, this was part of keeping everything above board, and so far, he’d been doing well with that. “Loki asked me to meet him at the beach where he showed up before. Tomorrow night. I just wanted to give you two a heads up that I’m going.”

Steve’s knuckles went a little white, but other than that he was the king of non-reactions. “When did this happen?” he questioned slowly.

Tony crossed his arms, lifted one hand to gesture with a helpless openness. “Two nights ago a bejeweled bird flew through the wall of my lab---”

“---and there appeared writing in green,” Thor finished for him, nodding like that was a totally normal sentence. “It is a method he used often when we were children.” Something complicated happened in his expression. “This is good news, I think, for him.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, beating Tony to the punch.

The corners of Thor’s eyes crinkled speculatively. “He has used such magic sparingly. Years ago, Loki crafted a similar gift for our mother. Before that… he created an insect that served the same purpose, so that we could communicate with each other when we were meant to be asleep.” With one hand, he reached out to Steve, who passed him the ball. Thor turned it over in his hands. Tony recognized the need to be doing something simple. “The only other occasion was for Hogun. His mother died in battle when we were very young, and the last thing she had given to him was a flower. He was overcome by the knowledge it would eventually wither and die, that he’d lose that last gift.” A quick flash of love tugged up one corner of Thor’s mouth as if on a string. “Loki turned it into a jewel, preserved it forever. This power of my brother’s has never been maliciously used.”

“So, not a weapon…” Tony said numbly, brain supplying him with the image of a young Loki comforting a friend and imagining what it would have meant to him on the day he’d been in Hogun’s position. Like a flip of the switch, his thoughts skipped tracks and latched onto Thor and Steve instead, soaking up details of the present.

Thor gave a slight bow of the head. He looked kind of sad. “No, never a weapon.”

“Okay…” Steve’s tone suggested he was thinking out loud. “We’ll make sure Bruce and Clint are stationed nearby so that if there’s trouble, JARVIS can signal them to get to the shore. Thor and I will stay here in case there’s a mission. Natasha is flying out tomorrow morning on an assignment for SHIELD, so she won’t be here, but we can always get in touch with Richards or Parker if we need assistance. Just…”

“Reports and carefulness, I know,” Tony said in his best teenager imitation and a theatric roll of his eyes that just reminded him he had a killer headache. When his imitations worked against him, it was probably time to go to sleep. For that matter, when _was_ the last time he’d slept? He’d been going a mile a minute since that night when he’d first brought the plans for the puzzle box to Bruce. He hadn’t made it to his bedroom since, but had he at least dozed? Sometimes he passed out on a workshop table and woke up doing an equation. Fuck, everything was a blur.

Steve gave him the good old-fashioned stink-eye. “How long has it been since you slept?”

Goddamn super soldier non-telepathic telepathy. “Err?”

“Bed. _Now_.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get some rest; it was probably a good idea. The problem was the thought of trying. Staring up at the ceiling in the semi-dark historically wasn’t the precursor to his most comforting thinking sessions. Tony shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling his muscles twinge from the sparring with Clint. “I can’t really, right now. I’m waiting on Natasha to get home with---”

“JARVIS can wake you up when she gets home,” Steve insisted. There was some muscle-clenching, and suddenly Tony had a vision of being tossed over Captain America’s shoulder and carried to naptime.

“You would not wish to face my brother while weary, my friend,” Thor cautioned. “Rest while there is opportunity.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He held up his hands in defeat. Now that the possibility was occurring to him, he was realizing that the headache went hand-in-hand with blurred sight and the peripheral fuzzy sensation that made his limbs seem too heavy, all signs sleep needed to happen. It was funny how that could happen: feeling completely fine one moment and then having everything ratchet up in the next. Maybe he could get a few hours in and by the time Natasha got home he’d be refreshed and ready to do things like reading comprehension. “I’ll go to bed,” he acquiesced at last. “I’ll even leave the tablets. Satisfied?”

“By _leave the tablets_ , do you also mean you won’t dictate to JARVIS?” Steve pressed.

Damn it all. “Absolutely.”

That got a nod and a soft smile. “Then yes, Tony, I’m satisfied.”

Thor took a step forward to grip his arm. “We’ll speak again when you awaken.”

“Sure thing,” Tony agreed, clapping him on a shoulder first for a change, though he doubted it had the same impact. “See you guys in a few hours then.”

When he made it to his room and laid down, he sincerely meant to sleep. JARVIS had set three different alarms to make sure he knew when Natasha got home, he hadn’t touched his tablets, and he’d resolutely closed his eyes. That was a vast oversight on his part. His mind hadn’t been traipsing around the best parts of town lately, and there were a lot of things his memories could do when supplied with dark spaces.

On this occasion they put him on a yacht with Pepper, watching the night sky. She smiled at him and left to get a martini but didn’t come back. He called her cell, but it just kept ringing. She never answered.

And he started falling, through the floor of the boat, into the water, and the black coldness of it turned to empty space with crystalline points of stars in the distance. There were creatures dying there, and he watched because he’d done it.

A hand tried to grab him through the shadow, and he reached out to it, desperate.

But the hand knocked his own aside and went for his chest instead, and then he was watching the arc reactor being pulled away. He couldn’t move, and he was torn open, empty, and still falling until---

“ _Sir, Agent Romanov has returned home._ ”

Tony sat bolt upright, swore once at the top of his lungs, put his head in his hands for the sum of three breaths, and then slid out from beneath the sheets.

\---

Natasha set the file in front of him in the lab, wordlessly took a seat at the bench, removed a gun from its holster at her hip, pulled out a cleaning kit stashed on the end table, and began taking the gun apart. She made no comment on the hovering, holographic model of the puzzle box or the mild shake to Tony’s fingertips. They’d finish what they were doing, and then they’d talk. In the meantime, they’d acclimate themselves to being next to each other and prepare to have a calm conversation about threatened friends. He and Natasha both tended to have extreme reactions to anything that endangered a person they cared about. Tony got explosive, and Natasha went the way of a slow, insidious poison. Whoever or whatever was responsible for the killings was in for a remarkably bad day.

“I need to know,” Tony began finally, quietly, barely audible over the hum of equipment, “If there are recordings or pictures of the victims from near their time of death. Let’s say, within a week of the date. I need copies if at all possible.”

Natasha clicked the clip back into place. “If they exist, you’ll have them.”

“Thank you.” Tony’s breathing slowed somewhat, and he steadied himself. “What’s in the file?”

“SHIELD’s plan of action, transcripts of interviews, and a list of suspects.” She replaced the gun at her hip. “As of now, everything is being kept in paper copies.”

“Problems with security?”

“Two of the suspects work in security.”

He frowned. “That’ll do it.” Little blocks of data clung to his fingertips and redistributed themselves in a line below the holographic puzzle box. “So what’s your take on the murders?”

Her hands were folded on the tabletop, and to anyone who didn’t know her, she would have looked harmless; Tony _did_ know her, and that stance sent a chill through him. “I think this is a play for revenge.” Natasha watched as he adjusted the cube’s angles. “Revenge works in cycles. It’ll be our turn.”

Tony gave a shallow nod and kept working. “Yeah. Yeah, it will.”

\---  
\----  
\---

Loki transcribed the pertinent sections of the Chastenet Compendium rather than attempt to sleep. A vast array of experience with lost causes told him that any attempt to slow his thoughts to a pace conducive to rest would be in vain. The result of his wakefulness was a haphazard stack of papers with scrawled notes and diagrams so thickly distributed across the white that they were nearly indistinguishable from one another. When he was confident that he had gleaned all that he needed, he set the book aside to be returned to Victor.

With the gemstone bird darting from rafter to rafter overhead, Loki built the first stage of the clairsensing foundation into the stone floor, a safe distance away from the dome. He placed a drop of the spider’s venom into the center. A vividly green glow began to seep into the carving, spreading sluggishly outwards.

Loki monitored its progress, watching for any gaps or blocks. None appeared, and the sheen branched out flawlessly. It would take several hours to gauge its stability, and so he turned his attention towards his work on the dome while he waited.

The past few occasions he’d altered the runes had yielded the discovery of the symbols attributing to the sphere’s magic-draining properties. He’d managed to isolate and enhance them to the point of complete absorption within a half minute of a victim’s capture. The trade-off was a weaker wall that could feasibly be breached by the captive. That day in the Solomon Isles, he had been struck by the perfect middle ground--- the fastest possible setting while retaining impenetrable walls. Loki acknowledged the single grain of brilliance Victor had found in an otherwise embarrassingly mediocre man. He only wished that he’d known before he’d killed him; he might have gleaned more information first.

Directly opposite the runes contributing to the absorption factor were those responsible for maintaining the solidity of the dome’s walls. By the time the clairsensing foundation proved stable, Loki had identified the minute intricacies therein and had begun to plot out future modifications. 

He left these findings to be pursued at another time, gathering up the compendium and taking the first leap towards Doomstadt.

His journey to Latveria sent him through several thunderstorms, and each crack of sound shook him to the bone in the spare seconds before he teleported to the next point. He buried the sensation with the practiced resolve that had become second nature since he’d looked into the eyes of the one with the power to cause it and chosen to fall.

Doomstadt’s skies were overcast but blessedly quiet, and Loki traveled the distance to the castle with even breaths.

Victor met him in the same lab that Loki had found him in before. The lighting came from sconces set into the floor, the flames shifting colors in a spectrum, forming faces when they weren’t looked at directly. Whatever magics Victor was invoking, he was drawing an audience. The man in question was penning a diagram in sharp angles behind a desk, but there was a heady pressure of power in the air around him that gave the sensation of an abrupt change in altitude. Sound dulled briefly as Loki adjusted to the barrage, surveying its effects with his own magic and deeming it harmless.

Latveria’s sovereign glanced up when Loki crossed the threshold and stood, setting down his pen with a finality that only seemed superficially annoyed. “Did you find what you were looking for?” A light came on beneath the surface of one of the lab tables, illuminating lines drawn in a viscous substance. Victor bent over them and began to pull vials from their compartments overhead. The single vial Loki glimpsed was filled to the stopper with dead moths.

“Yes, I did,” Loki answered, crossing to place the book down on the vacated desk. “You have my thanks.”

“Useless.”

Well, at least the man was perceptive and honest about it. His attention fell from Victor’s work to a glass jar sitting on the table and the curiosity preserved within it. Loki arched an eyebrow, bemused. “That organ is from a Cherufe, correct?”

“Correct.”

There were numerous warnings Loki could have given on that point, among them that Cherufe were analogous to vultures on their world, associated with death and carrion, and that the use of their bodies in spellwork was dangerous, in some cases prone to failing. Victor was almost certainly aware of these facts, however, in which case putting them to voice would be insulting. What Loki said was, “Your taste in home décor remains intriguing.”

“Nearly as intriguing as the peculiar acid mark on the heel of your boot,” Victor noted, tone pointedly placid. “It’s in the back. I am not surprised you missed it. Acquire a pet recently?”

Loki laughed. “Put the claws back in, Victor, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Victor turned his head at a slight angle so that he could see Loki at a slant through the eyes of his mask. “You never say a word without a meaning behind it.”

“Well,” Loki drawled. “I didn’t mean anything threatening, at least.”

“It might have been more intriguing if you had.”

He made a sound of contemplation. “Yes, when _was_ the last time we tried to kill each other?”

Victor paused in his work as if pondering the answer to that question before returning several vials to their places, now empty. “The Solomon Isles, I believe.”

“Ah, the sharks.” Loki’s face split into a smile.

With a matter-of-fact, blasé tone, “The attempt would have succeeded, had you not been rescued by Tony Stark.” 

What really struck him in that moment was that Victor did sound truly disappointed, as if Stark had skewed his results and rendered an experiment worthless. “I apologize for the delay,” Loki replied smoothly. “It’s my turn to betray, and I’ve been remiss.”

“I have every faith in your ability to follow through,” Victor assured him with evident lack of concern. From the assemblage in front of him, a cry went up in a dozen muted voices before abruptly being cut off by a flick of Victor’s hand.

“And on that note,” Loki turned. “I will take my leave.”

“If you encounter Namor, please convey to him that he owes me three corpses,” Victor called out in farewell.

“Of course,” Loki tossed over his shoulder, and then he was in hallway, and the door closed behind him of its own accord.

\---

Sunday night, he slept in the Brooklyn apartment and did not dream--- whether of the premonition or the myriad of things that had haunted him before it. When he awoke, it was the first occasion in recent memory that he felt rested. Seven hours had passed, undisturbed. The sensation was one he’d nearly forgotten.

Monday morning he bought breakfast from a diner two streets over beneath a glamour of an unremarkable brunette. A now deceased expatriate Victor had consorted with had been the one to introduce Loki to plotting over a cup of coffee. It was perhaps the most lasting impression the man’s life ever made.

Fresh in his mind from the premonition’s notable absence was the way England’s lack of knowledge concerning his future in the prophecy placed Loki in an awkward position. There were many dangers in treating people according to glimpses of the future without context, and if there was any avenue that could have resulted in England being able to save Loki’s life with that information, Loki felt certain the skeleton would have revealed its identity rather than name Tony Stark. 

The choices this left to him were few in number, and all involved maintaining his associations with England-of-the-present as though nothing had changed. It would not be a difficult act to sustain in comparison to others in Loki’s repertoire, but it had the potential to be unpleasant: knowing that he had support, however far-removed, but being unable to fully utilize that support, or… _reciprocate_ , perhaps, if the situation called for it. He simply needed to remind himself that England had been obliging, interesting, but thus far not impressive. Given how long the nation had survived, there must be depths yet to be seen, but England would have come to expect veiled aggression from Loki. That was a guise he could readily assume.

Arising implications from what England’s place in the prophecy meant could be examined at a later time.

Tony Stark was the more immediate concern.

He needed to make an ally of the man, and however morally questionable Stark might occasionally be, an Avenger was guaranteed to have particular standards. Meeting those standards, even temporarily or nominally, would be a colossal headache, Loki suspected. Loki needed to discover Stark’s caveats and how they would be applied.

When the crystal bird had returned and given Loki the reply, he’d calmed somewhat. He had a course of action. There was an alternate ending to the prophecy, and he was gathering the tools to achieve it. He was no longer in the utterly powerless position he’d been in even a few days ago. Nevertheless, the truth that would not weaken in its ferocity was that the England in the premonition was striving to help him, and Loki could not fathom a reason why. There were less than a handful of people who had ever _helped_ him, and half that had done so without something to gain. It was perturbing.

Stark, on the other hand, was subjecting himself to danger but not the guarantee of violence, and the man had at least one clear motive as Thor’s friend. Loki was infinitely more comfortable with that predictability, by given definitions of comfortable. Making an ally out of Stark would not be difficult if merely convincing him of it was sufficient to satisfy the prophecy. All it would take would be a simple charade of redemption. If, however, the alliance needed to be true…

It was much too early to bog himself down with the options when he had yet to reach that particular fork in the road. He could sew the beginnings of a rapport in Stark’s mind and adjust the stitches later.

Loki finished the coffee and paid his bill in torn, glamoured strips of newspaper.

He had a day to kill before he met Stark.

Loki smirked as he turned his face up to look at the morning sky.

The city was large. Surely there was some mischief to sew.

\---

Evening was a tentative suggestion in the sky, and Stark arrived on the beach an hour late. This did not surprise Loki in the slightest. He’d accounted for this well-known attribute of Stark’s by scheduling the meeting long before Loki intended to be there himself. As a result, he was only left waiting a dull ten minutes before Stark’s ship came into sight across the water, and this was what did surprise him. It was the sky, not the ocean, that he’d been looking to for Stark’s appearance. The armor was certain to be aboard the vessel, but when Stark approached him on the shore, it was bare-footed in a t-shirt and rolled up jeans. Above the hand that wore the ring, Loki recognized Stark’s summoning bracelet; confident, then, but not stupid.

“If you’re interested, I’ve got food,” Stark greeted, jerking a thumb at the boat. “Wasn’t sure what you had planned, so I came prepared with takeout. Do you like Thai?”

Loki shook his head. “I am not concerned with food at the moment, Stark.”

“Fair enough.” Stark rolled a shoulder, toed at the sand, unfazed and smiling. By Loki’s estimation, the expression was less than half a lie. “So we could talk on the boat, or we could take a walk…”

Without watching to see if Stark would follow, Loki turned on his heel and started down the shore.

Mere seconds later, Stark had closed the distance and was walking at his side, nearer to the water, ankle-deep in the tide. “Well…” he drew out. “How you doing, Loki?”

As far as Loki could discern, Stark had no weapons concealed on his person and was displaying very little fear. In fact, his manner seemed nearly like the one he’d had on the night spent with Banner and Thor. If not for the circumstances, it might have even been believable. “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

Stark gestured broadly. “Discuss away.”

Loki chose the most practical and least theatric track that he’d constructed, though he injected more emotion into his tone than the clinical element it had taken in his thoughts. “It has come to my attention that my current assortment of allies may not be as…” He tested the next word on his tongue. “ _Advantageous_ as I’d first believed. There is a level of reliability that simply doesn’t exist. I need resources and contacts that can be depended upon when their word is given. Ones who do not _try to kill me with sharks_ , as you very adamantly brought attention to during our battle against the Cherufe.”

“Whoa, whoa…” Stark’s steps faltered, but only briefly. “I’m not sure this is a conversation you should be having with me. I mean, Steve Rogers is heading the Avengers, and SHIELD has---”

“I’m not seeking an alliance with SHIELD or the Avengers,” Loki corrected, words silken. “I’m seeking an alliance with Tony Stark.”

“Oh. Then, I guess I’m exactly who you should be talking to. Uh, so…” Stark sounded abruptly tense, as if the proposal had caught him off guard. “What, exactly…”

“Don’t look so harried,” Loki laughed, choosing to ignore Stark’s flinch at the sound. “I’m not suggesting anything underhanded or treasonous, merely neutrality.”

Stark kicked into the surf, and their shoulders brushed; Loki resisted the impulse to put distance between them. “In a certain light, that might not look so different.”

“Then what, pray tell, have you been hoping to gain?” Loki questioned patiently. “Unless I wasn’t meant to notice how charmingly _civil_ you’ve been to me of late. If that is the case, then I’m afraid I must tell you, you’re not as convincing as you believe.”

“Okay, point, geez.” Stark rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, I guess my answer is …” He shoved his hands into his pockets, and there was a slight shake in the contour of his spine. “You showed up on the playing field with all this magic and called it science. I’d heard of it before, but I’d never come face-to-face with it like I did with you. That gave me a new perspective.” The surf came around Stark’s ankles and molded to the line of Loki’s boots. “Only, I can’t figure out that perspective, and I’m not just being an ass when I say that’s something I’m not used to. That got my attention.”

It was a concept Loki could empathize with.

“Then I realized I don’t understand you either.” Stark turned to him but returned his sight to the horizon when Loki did not return the gaze. “I’d made a lot of assumptions after you came for the tesseract, but I’ve seen most of those assumptions undone. More than that, I’m close to a guy who ---don’t strangle me for this please--- really cares about you, and that led to me spending an equal amount of time trying to reconcile that affection with the you that I _have_ seen, and the army, and the destruction. So this…” He drew a circle inclusively over his body. “This is me reconciling. This is me trying to figure things out… While admittedly feeling a little tipsy, but it’s definitely just nerves, because I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. Meaningful conversation with you while drunk can’t be a good idea.”

Fragments of that phrasing did not sit well with him. Of all the things that Loki was, a simple _curiosity_ was not among them. “Why, Mr. Stark, am I to understand that you want to _figure me out_?”

There was the suggestion of caution at the corners of Stark’s eyes and mouth. “Just as much as one person ever tries to figure someone else out.”

Loki could feel his own expression warp into a threat, and his hand spasmed briefly towards a blade. “That goal doesn’t lend itself to a long life-expectancy, where I’m concerned, and your lifespan is already so very short.”

“Hang on,” Stark cut off, holding up his hands in an abortive gesture. “I think we’re on different pages, here. I didn’t mean that like it would somehow be… easy, or that I’d ever be able to wholly understand you or where you’re coming from.” He laced his fingers behind his head in a transparent nervous need to move and tore them back to his sides in the same few seconds. “I just hear so many contradictory things about you, from SHIELD and from--- from Thor, and I’d like to be able to make up my own mind.”

“Make up your mind…” Loki repeated slowly, measuring meaning.

“About whether your moral ambiguity matches my moral ambiguity or clashes.” A subconscious twirl at the wrist. “Like fabric patterns.”

A wry smile replaced his anger in small degrees. “And not a drop of alcohol, you said?”

In return, Stark gave him a defensive, sideways glance. “Well, what is it that _you’re_ looking to gain, huh?”

Loki’s speech shifted instantly back into persuasive shades. “It is likely that I will have a long residence on Midgard.” Only a partial lie, but the silted bitterness beneath it was certain to strike a chord in Stark. “I’d prefer not to spend the entirety of that time hunted as a pariah. Retaining an ally who does not consistently attempt to raze and conquer would give me credibility as a mere… traveler.”

Stark gave a pensive hum. “But, uh, you’re kinda in the raze and conquer business too.”

“I’m a man of many interests, and at the moment they lie comfortably elsewhere, I assure you.” Namely, keeping himself alive, but Stark had no need for the details as of yet.

They heard nothing but the lap of waves for several moments until Stark said, in a tone approaching solemnity, “At-the-moment isn’t really good enough for me.”

“I have ambitions. I don’t need to conquer to attain power.” He shaped the words with an easy smoothness that had not fallen into disuse in his time away from Asgard. “I already possess it, and I occupy my time with obtaining new avenues by which to gain more. People will follow me naturally as an extension of that power.”

“Uh-huh…” Stark seemed unconvinced. “Yeah, that doesn’t really make me feel any better.”

“And is there some action I could take that _would_?” Loki asked with teeth. He watched him critically, couldn’t help but take note of pulse-points, imagine the blood just beneath thin skin and dispersed between muscle. “You say you wish to know me. Is an alliance not ample opportunity?”

An eyebrow quirked upwards, parallel to one corner of his mouth, but it didn’t seem born of humor. “Going from zero to alliance in 3.5 seconds doesn’t seem fast to you?”

“Are you suggesting a courting period?” Loki interpreted in a misleadingly cloying tone. The idea wasn’t altogether abhorrent, and as long as the desired result was reached, he had no issue with the challenge. In fact, there was a certain nostalgic appeal to winning the trust of a hero. He still had a minimum of seven months to manufacture the proposed business relationship; he doubted he would need half that to win Stark.

“What can I say,” Stark shrugged and turned a half-smile on him that more closely fit its definition. “I’m a man who appreciates being wooed.”

Loki permitted him a softer rendition of his own as bait. “And I appreciate its rituals, so that works to our advantage.”

The half-smile became whole, and it did have a certain charm. “Then how do I get in touch with you, exactly? It doesn’t seem fair that you can find me any time, but I’m stuck waiting for you to appear.”

“If you wish, you may take responsibility for the jeweled bird I sent to you previously,” Loki answered, having already considered this. It could be easily interpreted as an act of trust, and should it be examined by someone proficient in magic, they would find it utterly non-threatening. He’d toyed with the idea of a surveillance spell but had discarded it. This would be a grain of truth that lent him an air of sincerity. “It has no needs. Merely dictate the message you wish to send, and it will find me.”

Stark looked startled. “Seriously? That’s a pretty incredible gift.”

“And it will give you an opportunity to run more tests,” Loki noted knowingly, smirking at the naked interest on Stark’s face. “Its ability to travel inside your lab must have been a tantalizing mystery.”

“Well, yeah.” Stark spun on his heel and began to stride backwards so that they could see eye-to-eye. The strange contraption set into his chest conspired with the moonlight to cast him in an appealing glow. “But just so you know, it’s going to take more than magical gifts to win me over.”

Loki took in the breadth of his stance, the surety of his expression, and answered, “I’d never supposed differently.”


	8. Miscalculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookay. So I'm going to start posting shorter chapters because I'm not liking this once-a-month thing I've been doing. It shouldn't have taken this long to post this one, but I hit a bit of writer's block.
> 
> In other news, I've been trying to write a drabble a day and post compilations of them to my lj. I'm open for requests [here](http://ghostofthemotif.livejournal.com/59391.html) if anyone's interested =]

At some point, after the guise of self-assurance overcame his nerves and became semi-legit, Tony had decided that walking was just making him more keyed up and that sitting in the sand was probably a better idea. Loki had taken it in stride, relaxing into a graceful sprawl that would have gotten Tony’s attention in more creative ways from a different individual. Proximity to a guy who might randomly kill him: alert the presses, he’d found his anti-libido. “So, wait, let me get this straight…” He could hear the grin in his own voice, only partially feigned, as he sat cross-legged with his arms resting on his knees, facing the ocean. “For the next twenty-four hours, anyone who gets into one of those cabs will spend their day performing Broadway hits? When did you even learn Broadway hits?”

“I worked as a stagehand for several months while gaining information on a target,” Loki confided. There was a buzz of amusement in his tone that made Tony irrationally want to flop backwards and swap secrets like it was a slumber party. The whole situation was having the same frenzied effect on his brain as late night lab work, and he was having a hard time wielding logic through the adrenalin. It was a lot like being tossed from a building. That imagery felt less poetic and more visceral in present company. “Call it research.”

Tony looked at him skeptically with a crooked smile. “You had a target on Broadway?”

For a moment, his eyes studying Tony’s expression in the night air, Loki didn’t reply. When he did, it gave a distinct impression of a test. “That is not a story you’ll want to hear.”

His immediate impulse was to protest, but he stopped and forced himself to think it through, made himself evaluate how much he could learn about Loki and still want to go through with this. The scales were already buckling. He needed to decide whether he was in the market for a new set. His smile straightened to nothing. “Dead or alive?” Tony asked simply, finally, because if he was trying to get to know Loki, then omitting facts wasn’t the way to go about it. There was no way he’d be able to function in an alliance with those parameters; he’d let an associate into his blind spot before, and he refused to do it again.

Loki observed him carefully before replying, “Dead.”

Tony nodded once and turned back to watch the waves, a familiar fog seeping into his brain, skin, joints, voice. “Does it bother you?”

“Be more specific,” Loki prompted. His approach reminded Tony of an office meeting, of when a contact would sit across the desk from him to have a frank discussion.

“The killing.” Tony spun the Beauregard ring around his finger aimlessly. Communication might not be his strong suit, but he had to try. If they were going to attempt to iron out an alliance ---and holy fuck, that was simultaneously terrifying and electrifying--- then this was the sort of conversation that they needed to have. He kept telling himself that, using it as fuel. “Does it bother you?”

“It varies from instance to instance,” Loki answered without pause. After a breath, “In the interest of full disclosure, I must also say that it hasn’t been enough to stop me.”

“It used to not be enough to stop me either,” Tony confessed, softly. The tide sounded like static in his ears, and static sounded like scattered beats, and scattered beats reminded him of nothing if not the hiss and crack of bullets into dirt, into rock. “I hadn’t ever pulled the trigger myself, but it was my tech being fired. I’d get this guilty little twinge every now and again, and I’d reason it away as the responsible reaction to being in the weapons market.” His voice sounded more composed, more objective than he felt. “At the time, I thought the feeling was just one more obligation. Then I came face-to-face with that death, and once I did, it was all I could think about.”

He caught the answering nod from the corner of his eyes. “I’d gathered that much,” Loki murmured, but the remark didn’t have the lilt that Loki used when he said things to be lorded over him. “You are a complex man but transparent nonetheless.”

God, he wished he had a drink. “Yeah, well…” He wet his lips. “If you can see through me so clearly, would you mind telling me where it ends?”

Loki sat up slowly, and the motion made a panel of leather slip to reveal a wicked looking knife before it settled back into place. The worried gulp traveling down Tony’s throat had barely resolved when Loki came to rest directly beside him, gesturing out towards the ocean with the opposite arm so that their bodies angled towards one another, and oh _hell_ that seemed deliberate. “One’s line of sight can be unobstructed and yet still fall victim to the inability to see across vast distances.” Green eyes trapped Tony’s in place. Loki’s mouth was so goddamn pale. “And I think that you aren’t done falling.”

He managed a brittle smirk. “So I’m that creepy well people drop stones into?”

Impossible light flickered with humor in Loki’s eyes, and Tony thought _magic_ even though there was a perfectly good moon to blame. “Or on a line strung from one point to another on the horizon.”

“That’s a lot of space to drown in,” Tony commented, mouth dry.

“Perhaps you’ll be lucky and there won’t be an enchanted cage on this occasion,” Loki rejoined with an artful smile photographers would lap up.

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll be there to stab the sharks.”

“A true sign of great allies,” Loki declared wryly, one hand lifting and curling to toast with an imaginary glass. For a split second, Tony could see the guy Thor had told him about, could imagine the quips, pranks, and camaraderie. There was a throw-back sensation to when Loki had nearly drowned and had looked like any other guy who didn’t want to die.

It could have gone in several different directions right then, but there was only one that Tony was absolutely certain he could live with. He got to his feet and moved to stand where the water could sluice the sand off his skin, speaking from that tiny bit of distance that wouldn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things but made him feel more resolute anyway. “So are we going to talk about why you want an alliance with me _now_? And what it has to do with how freaked out you’ve been the last couple of times we’ve seen each other? Because I can do avoidance with the best of them, but I need to know the boundaries so I can push and pull accordingly.”

A knife didn’t strike him between the shoulderblades or in the kidneys.

Magic didn’t open a portal beneath his feet to a planet of carnivorous flora, or set him on fire, or puree him, or catapult him into the ocean.

That just cinched it, really.

Tony turned towards Loki again, back facing the peaceful view, front facing the one that might get him killed. “We already established you handle panic and uncertainty with violence,” he went on, doing his best to talk like this was a product pitch and not a feelings session with an interplanetary criminal. “Is there a reason I asked that question and still have the same amount of blood I came here with?”

Loki was doing that impersonation of a statue again, but his eyes were fever-bright, almost animalistic, and it had to be a trick of the light, but there might have been a glow there. His body had a flavor of complete stillness that came as a precursor to a violent lunge. “Yes.”

“Are you going to share it?” he asked when nothing more was forthcoming. In the more primitive portions of his brain, there was a mini-Tony screaming for him to shut up in a pitch so high it was only audible to dogs, but that dogs-only pitch meant that it was super easy to ignore. “Because, in the previously mentioned interest of full disclosure, I’d like to know.”

“And in the interest of you surviving to form this alliance, it would be ill-advised for me to tell.” Loki’s mouth barely moved, but his eyes roved Tony’s body and rested on what, with a brief trill of dread, Tony realized were major arteries. “I’d likely regret it and kill you to correct the error.”

He absorbed that in less time than he would have thought, and said, “Well… it’s a start.” There was a slight downwards twitch to Loki’s mouth that Tony took to mean confusion, so he elaborated. “You won’t answer my question, but you gave me your rationale. That’s more than just a flat _no_.”

“My, you’re easy to please,” Loki said, expression recovering a bit of life without losing the feral shine to his eyes.

“Nope, just realistic.” Tony spread his hands. “I knew it was a long shot when I asked, but I had to ask anyway, you know? You gave me what you could at this point. I get that.”

Loki looked at him like he was a strange, unintelligible creature that belonged in a display case.

It didn’t take long before Tony shifted his weight around, growing incrementally uneasy beneath that stare. “So, uh… The team’s going to be expecting to hear back from me pretty soon. Was there anything---”

“---Expect the messenger bird in your lab in two hours,” Loki said shortly, rising fluidly to his feet, and vanishing in the next second, just like that.

For a full ten seconds, Tony watched the empty stretch of sand where Loki had been, arms raised in a gesture of _what the fuck, abrupt much?_

Once recovered, he rubbed at a temple tiredly. “That’s going to be the next topic of conversation,” he muttered to himself.

He let his stare slide from the vacated shore to the tide. Once upon a time, he was pretty sure he hadn’t associated the ocean with supervillain conference hour.

First thing when he got home, he had a dire appointment with the bar and an armchair.

As he got back on board the boat, he called Bruce to let him know everything had gone smoothly and he’d see them at home. Bruce’s voice had that imperturbable note that couldn’t be dissected without the aid of facial expressions while he said that he was glad, and that he and Clint would take the car back and see Tony soon. Halfway home, though, Tony came to a stop, went down the ladder on the side, dangled low, and let Beauregard free. A half hour went by and he was still watching the spectral fish ghost through the water, a beautiful glow in the dark waves. It was calming, as though he needed a visual to get the full benefit of the soothing ocean sounds that someone somewhere had given retail value. He texted Bruce about the detour and stayed out a little longer. 

The moment he checked his phone and saw that if he continued on right then it would get him there just outside Loki’s two hour mark, he did.

By the time he reached his lab, the jeweled bird was waiting, and upon seeing him, it opened its mouth and spilled the name, _Lapis_ in green writing into the air. Around it was an assembled array of shiny metal scraps as if it had been collecting reflective surfaces in his absence.

Tony blinked, coming to a halt. He wondered if this was the flat-footed feeling people described right after he told them something technical. If so, another point should be racked up for karma. “Uh… Hi, Lapis. Welcome home?”

Lapis responded with an arpeggio that reminded him of a clarinet, and Tony interpreted it as a happy sound.

“ _Will this creature be staying with us long, sir?_ ” JARVIS questioned.

“Yep. Think of it as a glitzy carrier pigeon,” Tony advised, sensing that JARVIS was calculating the odds of Lapis attempting to collect metal parts more important than scraps. “We’ll set some ground rules, okay?” Then, repeating to the bird, “Okay?”

“ _Yes, sir._ ”

Another arpeggio.

Tony listened to the replies, glanced down at the fish doing circles in his ring, and then heard Dummy crash into something in the corner. He sighed heavily. “Fuck, I’m that cliché rich guy with the menagerie.”

\---

Tony felt accomplished.

By Thursday, he’d finished the puzzle box and placed a pocket watch inside it that not only told time, but had a thin, transparent screen to display information like local languages and currencies. It seemed as though Loki did a lot of traveling, and it wasn’t like he was providing details Loki couldn’t otherwise obtain, so Tony figured it would be useful and not invoke the wrath of Fury.

Besides, with the way things were going, Fury owed him some slack. By Thursday, outside the lab, he’d fought a robotic chimera, two evil geniuses whose genius was disappointingly overstated, and a swarm of giant mosquitoes terrorizing Louisiana. Sleep was a thing that happened in shifts, strictly regulated by Steve. Regardless of the mayhem, Tony was riding a creative high, which meant that while he was fighting the very sad villains, he was also dictating ideas to JARVIS. It got shit done, and it made him feel like his time hadn’t been wasted in spite of the dearth of cool in their recent battles. Fury was all solemn gratitude and debriefings and paperwork and Stark-stop-fidgeting, so Tony figured they were following protocol closely enough. When that was combined with the fact Tony hadn’t worked himself into the ground or missed one of Steve’s scheduled bedtimes, the completion of the puzzle box felt like a triumph.

More than that, sometime in the middle of the battle against the second evil genius and her army of mutated cats, Tony had filled Thor and Clint in on the report he’d handed over to Steve about the latest meeting with Loki and the proposed alliance. They’d proceeded to have an enlightening conversation with the backdrop of their quarry screeching at her cats to do something besides lounge on cars and bat at streetlights. Thor was ecstatic but anxious. Clint’s voice went rigid, and his responses were clipped by brutal skepticism; by the end of it, Clint summed up his thoughts in a sentence: what they’d lose from a betrayal outweighed what they could gain from Loki’s sincerity, and he was against it. That being said, Clint went on to specify that with extreme limitations and restrictions put on an alliance with Loki, and with Fury’s backing, he’d attempt to re-cultivate that opinion in a professional capacity. As far as honesty went, Tony was hitting it out of the park, and he felt more secure when bolstered by the advice of his friends. He could remember a time when he would have been lying his ass off about the meetings with Loki. Funny what a position on a team could do to a guy.

Wednesday night, he met with Steve and got a cautious thumbs-up, except that Steve shared Clint’s opinion that it was time to consult more closely with Fury. That was a conversation Tony didn’t want to have, but he smiled and said something appropriately responsible. Eventually, he knew that he _was_ going to need to give Fury information on Loki’s machinations, but he had enough going on in secretive conversations with Fury because of murders, and he’d like some resolution before adding more. Couldn’t blame a guy for wanting that.

Natasha was still out of town and wouldn’t be back another half day, which left Bruce in his catching-up rounds.

Now, late into Thursday, he held the puzzle box to his chest, standing outside Bruce’s door and wondering why in the hell he felt so nervous. This was _Bruce_ : his bro, his bestie, his science wingman. Despite that, a part of him was still uneasy bringing Loki up after the disquiet he’d seen in Bruce’s face the last time. His expression from that moment was stuck in the front of Tony’s mind, and he was having a hard time shaking it. He hated thinking he’d put that look there. The thought of doing it again made his hesitation outside the door last a lot longer than it should have. Normally he’d barrel through that kind of thing, but being his usual slapdash self under these circumstances? Christ, that’d make him a heel.

Before he could get it together enough to knock on the door, Bruce opened it. 

Tony’s eyes went wide, deer caught in the headlights. “Uh. Hi.”

With the leaning against the doorframe and the amused, questioning smile, Bruce didn’t seem overly concerned. “JARVIS told me you were on the way when you came down the hall, but you never opened the door.”

He winced internally. Externally, he tried a smile. “Right. Of course JARVIS told you that.”

Patient expectation of an explanation tweaked Bruce’s smile. “Is there a reason you’re loitering, or…?”

Before he could second guess himself or overthink it, Tony thrust out the puzzle box without preamble. “I finished it. And I’ve got a lot to say, so I’ll probably babble.”

Gingerly, expression unreadable, Bruce took it from his hands. For a moment, he just looked at it. Then he took a step back from the doorjamb and walked back into his room, an obvious invitation to follow.

Tony shoved his hands deep into his pockets, drumming his fingers on his legs to jolt out some nerves, and crossed the threshold. “The pocket watch is inside. I thought about going modern, but Loki seems like the kind of guy who’d have a pocket watch, you know? Dapper, or whatever.”

“Dapper is one word you could use,” Bruce agreed with a slight nod, taking a chair on the other side of the bed, by the window. “You kept the music choice?”

He shrugged a shoulder, and swallowed down the flash-bomb images of a dirt and flesh and metal blown sky high like a shot. “Back in Black was playing when my life skipped tracks. Maybe his can skip tracks too.”

“I think it already did,” Bruce pointed out in a murmur. “That’s the problem.”

“Get back on track, then,” Tony corrected. He was still standing, a shift to one foot, a half-step forward, a turn to the side, an about-face towards the bed, and back again.

“Try a chair, Tony.”

He approached the chair across from Bruce, fell into it, and then was on his feet once more in the next second. “Yeah, no, can’t. Gotta keep moving. Lots of coffee, thinking very fast, you know how it is. Did you hear he wants to be allies with me?” Tony breezed right past the expression on Bruce’s face with, “Yeah, I know, right? But he seemed pretty sincere. I mean… Can’t be a great judge of that yet, exactly, but hey. I’m doing this whole thing to give the guy a chance, and I’m not being an idiot about it.” He took stock of the visual clues to Bruce’s opinion of that appraisal. “I told him he’d have to convince me it could work. Maybe he’ll take it as a personal challenge. That can’t be too bad a deal. How much havoc is he going to wreak if he’s trying to get on my good side?”

“Have you met you?” Bruce asked absently as he fiddled with a hatch on the box.

“Touché.” He looked out the window, swayed from toe to heel, toe to heel, toe to heel, before, “This might be a good sign, though. I think he’s starting to figure out the supervillain club isn’t very friendly to its members. The guy likes to do his work alone, but being a loner in a parade of other psychotic loners probably wasn’t what he was going for.” On a whim, he tried the chair again, and abandoned the idea just as fast and without much grace. Bruce was a sport and didn’t mention it. “I got the impression he’s aiming for neutrality.”

“And he told you that?” Bruce questioned, slow clarification and a dash of surprise.

“No,” he winced. “It’s a hunch. I haven’t gotten the evidence yet.” Tony stood behind the empty chair, braced his arms on the back. “We’re supposed to meet Saturday. I figured I’d clear some things up then.” He pulled at a loose thread. “I asked him how he was doing, and he actually told me something. That’s new. The last few times, he’s just… talked around everything.”

Bruce rested the puzzle box in his lap, eyes now focused entirely on Tony’s face, doing a sweep for details and missing nothing. “You think whatever was wrong with him before has come to a head. You wouldn’t be this open to the idea otherwise.”

“Why would he bring it up now, if that wasn’t the case?” Tony confirmed easily. “It’s pretty obvious the guy’s shopping for people he can count on when whatever shit he’s in hits the fan, and he’s not fond of his current selection. That fruit basket has Doom in it, and this whole thing started with him siccing sharks on Loki. Not only is that massively uncool, but it’s probably not going to be very helpful.”

“No argument from me.”

With a passing imitation of a cleansing breath, he reduced his babbling rush enough to really center his attention on Bruce. His friend was sitting there, watching him like Tony was giving a mini-expose on their project of the week, indulgent smile in place. “I… kinda came in here and spit all this out at once because if I went any slower, I’d probably chicken out.”

Bruce’s voice got that calming edge. “I’m the last person you need to speak slowly around.”

“I know.” And he did, logically, viscerally. “But I’ve got a heap of life experiences that make me…”

“Twitchy?”

Tony grinned, couldn’t help it, and Bruce’s expression softened somewhat. “Yeah. Twitchy.”

“I’ve told you before…” He turned the puzzle box over in his hands, tenseness bleeding out of him where Tony hadn’t noticed it before. “You have my support. It doesn’t mean I buy Loki’s whole story, but from the sounds of it, you don’t either. We’re on the same page.”

“I’m, I’m really glad to hear that.” There was a tremor to the tips of his fingers, and he pushed off from where he was leaning to counter it. Finally, blessedly, he collapsed into the chair. “I need to come up with some ground rules for this alliance thing. Wanna help?”

Bruce inclined his head. “Always.”

\---  
\----  
\---

It was more difficult than it should have been to enter England’s home. The wards had been changed, and they clotted Loki’s flow of magic. He recognized the tactic, but he hadn’t expected to see it implemented in so passive a way. When taking their last encounter into account, he wasn’t surprised that England had heightened his security, but he had thought that it would have more… bite. Typically, wards that clotted magic formed emboli that could block that magic’s pathway and kill the user. England’s version could not produce anything so lethal. By the time he’d pushed through them, Loki found himself mildly short of breath with a narrower stream of power that would be an inconvenience in force and speed but not power. He’d never seen such a _courteous_ defense.

To England’s a credit, the only outward sign of shock at Loki’s presence when he teleported just behind the living room couch seating three suited men was a lurching wave to his tea. The first gentleman with his back to Loki continued to prattle on, oblivious to the intrusion. From either side of him, his two companions had adopted equally unconvincing postures of interest, but it was one more facet the speaker was oblivious to. The atmosphere was plainly one of business, and from the speed and pitch of speech, it was going to last a while longer.

Loki shielded himself from sight, soundlessly, taking note that England’s eyes still found his unerringly. With a subtle jerk of his head, England indicated the stairs, his expression a carefully banked request for civility. Loki showed some teeth but obliged.

The second floor of England’s home revealed three bedrooms and a study. Loki dismissed the first set and entered the latter. Midafternoon light made the room appear dusty, but upon further investigation, Loki recognized the shine in the air for what it was: flickering reflections of enchantments permeating the air. He brushed through them with a frown of annoyance no different than if they were cobwebs. The spells weren’t meant to be defensive; in someone who could not see them, they would sew distraction into their forethoughts. It gave the distinct impression that England possessed items in the room that he didn’t want a person’s focus to linger on for too long.

With nothing better to do in the interim, Loki set about locating them.

Bookcases filled to overcapacity lined the walls of the rooms, filed and stacked until they hung over the edges of the shelves. A significant portion of the collection was devoted to history and commentaries on war and politics. The next greatest fraction belonged to Midgardian fiction. Scattered throughout these volumes, however, were a number on subjects Loki actually held an interest in. These aberrations to the theme were books on various matters of sorcery. In fact, several had duplicates in Victor’s library that Loki had avoided borrowing in order to screen his intentions. It was nice to know he had other options, and England’s security had already proven to be significantly more lax.

He chose a book at random and scanned the contents: an anthology of notes on the different supernatural denizens inhabiting Midgard and its corresponding pocket dimensions. Loki flipped idly through the pages, seeing creatures he personally recognized, others he knew of, and a scarce few that were unfamiliar to him. Beneath a window against the far wall, there was a threadbare chair that Loki reclined in without removing his focus from a dissertation on mylings. In earlier times, Loki remembered as he traced an illustration with a fingertip, he had found mylings loathsome. Recent events had painted them more sympathetically in his mind--- abandoned children, dead and searching for peace, clinging to strangers in the woods for help and inadvertently bringing about their deaths.

“You have impeccable timing,” England stated as he entered the room, and Loki immediately buried the reminder of the skeleton the arrival invoked, sheared that influence to his reactions away. “I was trying to find a reason to end the meeting that would leave me a clear conscious, and you gave me an exceptional one.”

Loki turned the page and made a noncommittal sound, very aware that on the last occasion they’d seen each other, he’d embedded his fingers in England’s stomach. He’d expected… Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t casual humor. “I’ll consider it a favor owed.”

“Of course you will,” England said mildly, edging around a vase that housed antiquated weapons to occupy the chair behind his desk. “And I’ll be glad to repay you by answering whatever question you’ve come to me with.”

“Scion.”

England paled in an offhand way, as if he were politely affronted by the condition. “Pardon?”

Loki inspected the entry before turning the book where England could see the writing and image beside it: soil spinning up from the ground to take the shape of a man--- blonde hair, green eyes, swathed in blood-stained white cloth.

“Ah. That.” England reclined backwards, folded his hands together. “At the time the book was written, _scion_ was the word for my kind.”

“I was under the impression your existence was not widely known.”

England shook his head. “It isn’t. To most that had heard of us, we were merely a story as much as they believed any other creature in that volume to be. But that’s hardly the reason behind your visit.”

In a past life, Loki’s smile might have been called faintly apologetic. In the present, it was a charade of manners. “No.”

One hand reached out over the desk with the apparent expectation of a glass and diverted itself to a stack of papers when none was found; it was the only nervous gesture, and yet it was obvious, _amateur_ if it had been England’s intention to conceal--- unless he was simply that afraid. “Well?”

There was a subtle way to ask his question, but as far as Loki was concerned, subtlety was a pointless expenditure at this stage. “If an individual speaking to the will-o’-the-wisp’s bearer manages to do so with empathic abilities, what reaction might they expect?”

Slow, measuring observation from what the book in Loki’s hands described as dirt and blood made human. “That would depend on the bearer.” England shrugged one shoulder, stare falling to the side before climbing back. “Some may see it as an upheaval of parameters and react aggressively. Some may retreat entirely until a fae scripts a response. Others may respect it.” A contemplative smirk. “Personally, in the bearer’s place, I’d think anyone who managed to do so within the dream was the best sort of bastard. Namely, a brilliant, ballsy one.”

Loki laughed, a sharp, sick note that sent spider-web fractures through his composure rather than bolster it.

The expression on England’s face stuttered into a close approximation of the one he’d worn when Loki had nearly disemboweled him in the kitchen downstairs. Occasionally, it was jarring to recognize the moments when someone recalled his madness.

“You believe it is a viable option, then?” Loki redirected.

England nodded, adjusted his grip on nonchalance. “If one could find the means to use their magic within the dream, then, yes.”

“Thank you for your time.” He stood, tucking the book into the satchel at his waist. “I’ll be borrowing this.”

“It appears that way,” England agreed wryly.

\---

He initiated the final steps immediately upon returning to Denver.

The clairsensing foundation’s glow had shifted from green to white, and the venom he’d used to start the reaction had siphoned itself away from the array to hover in the air at its center, an orb of liquid. Loki stood at the edge, observing the inky-black substance as it rippled, struggling to maintain its spherical shape. Beneath its surface there was the appearance of limbs, extremities that scraped and grasped as if they could puncture the casing. In order to finish the enchantment, Loki needed to ingest that matter. For some odd reason, he felt that it might be an unpleasant experience.

Damson watched him from the rafters, and her constant series of clicks quickened when Loki took a step over the border.

The magic glanced off his skin harmlessly, felt like static, a familiar sensation. He wasted no time. With cupped hands, he encased the orb and brought it to his mouth, swallowing it whole.

At first, nothing.

Then, interspersed with vertigo, nausea, and the feeling of pressure on all sides, came awareness. It was not the first occasion he’d used empathic magic, but he was still unaccustomed to the acquisition of a new sense that vied for precedence among the natural five. The taste in his mouth was one of clover and iron.

When he’d adjusted, there was a savage, primitive impression of anxiety. Loki tilted his head to glance above, still standing in the array’s center, eyes focusing on Damson and confirming her as the source. A slow smile spread across his face.

This much, at least, was a success. Now, all he needed was sleep, and the Brooklyn apartment was the best place for that. He went quickly, before the full effects could peak. Once that happened, his apartment building would light up like a livewire in his mind, and it would undeniably keep him awake. He needed the strongest point of reference to occur during the dream. So, while the spell’s reach remained short, he laid down and pushed his thoughts away.

\---

The dream was different from its first moment. On all other occasions, his typical mindset at the start was one of dedicated fixation on reaching the path’s end. Tonight, that certainty of his goal was still present, but there was an underlying emotion reminiscent of dread. The instinct was not coming from him, he was sure. It had the peculiar aftertaste he associated with the spell, which would imply that someone was nearby. Unaccountably considering this fact, the immediate area was empty, quiet. With no clear explanation for what the enchantment was alerting him to, Loki continued on. 

The forest around him was dark as the air thickened with fog, and the distant crash of the ocean provided a metronome to his steps. That consistency was reassuring in the face of the rest. Screams were barely audible in the distance, but, blessedly, England was too far away for Loki to experience that particular suffering. He only hoped that when he met England in the clearing, England’s lack of nerve endings would make lingering in his vicinity bearable.

And there was _still_ no basis for the bodiless ebb of trepidation permeating the forest air, and the lack of logic behind it was beginning to eat at him. It was perplexing, _frustrating_ , and Loki used it to separate himself from the lie of the dream’s beginning. Having a puzzle to concentrate on made it easier to resist placing trust in the path. Unfortunately, that was all his musings had afforded him thus far. He could think of no reason for the spell to interpret emotion from his current surroundings. The enchantment should have only detected emotion from sentient creatures, and there were none within sight.

It wasn’t until the path began to fill with blood that he realized his error. The region was not empty, merely dormant, and when the creatures pushed up through the dirt, the pure force of their hatred for him sent him stumbling. He caught himself on a tree as the first distorted face broke the soil. Its cry reverberated in his veins, counterpoint to bloodlust he’d heard many boast of but witnessed few achieve.

Loki had known, of course, that their singular purpose in the dream was to kill him. What he hadn’t realized was how _desperately_ they wanted it. The potency was so great that his mind nearly confused it with his own desires, nearly drove him to reach towards them.

A burst of pain short-circuited that process. He clasped a palm around the cut in his throat from the tree’s hands and regained his footing to stagger into the forest, corpses at his heels.

He did not make it far. The more their numbers increased, the greater the brutality of their drive to kill him was amplified by the spell. An individual thread of resistance had no strength against so many. 

The dream ended with Loki coming to a slow stop amongst the trees and standing perfectly still as they converged on him from all sides.

\---

He woke in Brooklyn with the spell still shrieking inside him. It felt like a weight on his skin, and he tore at it as though he could strip it away from his body like the sheets tumbling to the floor. His fingertips came back bloody and accomplished nothing, smeared against his palms as he clenched his fists against his stomach. Someone in the apartment beside his banged loudly on the wall behind his bed, and Loki reacted to the sound with a snarl that warped his scream and quieted his neighbor.

The spell had been a success, but his planning had not been. That much was clear. Somewhere, he had miscalculated. Those thoughts remained cool and calculating in the forefront of his mind as he came down from the fervent delight he’d just taken in his own death, his pain and fear twisted by the minds around him. Nausea roiled through him in waves, and he dismissed it like anything else, white-knuckling his way into calm.

“I’ll need to make another attempt, then,” Loki murmured to himself, half-smile crawling, sick, onto his face, while his breathing shifted into a steady pace. “A lower dose, I think.”

A sudden flare of light behind his eyelids was the first indication he had that he’d closed them. When he looked up it was to see the green glow burning beneath the jewel casing of Lapis, flitting in the air above his bed, too small and too fragile for the nature of his present mood. He wondered how long his creation had been in the room.

“What is it?” he asked, cold, stern, forcing himself to retain control and not indulge the want to break something, anything.

The bird gave a cadence and then spilled writing into the air.

_Are we still on for that lunch-time drive tomorrow?_

“We are,” Loki confirmed without giving it much thought. Keeping appointments was important with fledgling alliances, and if he was going to go about convincing Tony of his sincerity, then being available was a necessary quality.

Lapis took the light back, formed the new words, wrapped them up inside, and passed insubstantially through the wall of his apartment.

The glow remained as globes in his vision for long after his creation left, and when they’d finally faded, the thought of sleep provoked a reaction within himself too strong to allow for it. Loki rose from his bed and set about straightening his sheets, wondering in a placid manner what time the corner café closed.

\---  
\----  
\---

It was handed off to him subtly as he left the kitchen with a dinner tray that night, a USB wrapped in a napkin that Natasha had, to all appearances, jokingly tucked into his jacket pocket.

Tony didn’t know whether to be happy that he was right or quietly terrified.

Most of the pictures taken were of Jenna Demayo, the student. She’d attended a party two nights before her death, and there were liberal amounts of pictures taken. A note from Natasha said that the photographer had posted them online and taken them down shortly after, even before Jenna had died. It didn’t take a lot of thought to figure out why. In every one of the pictures, there was a human-shaped shimmer, half obscured in a doorway, reflected in the television screen or a glass, standing amongst the crowd, or, in one chilling case, looking down from a stairway towards the living room where Tony saw Jenna a distance away, off-center, not even the focus of that particular photograph.

There was one lake house photo of the mother, Candice Crawford, standing with her husband and two young boys at the shore. Over the smallest kid’s shoulder, Tony could see a silhouette submerged from the waist down in the water.

“Fuck,” Tony breathed raggedly, hands falling away from the keyboard. “It was following them.”


	9. Vengeful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait! School didn't leave me much time to write. This is my last semester before graduation, though! I can see that light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm running at it full tilt lol. Thank you so much for your kudos, your comments, and for sticking with me.

The cup had gone cold in his hands. At infrequent intervals, a waitress had taken it to be reheated, but she had stopped when it became clear Loki wasn’t going to drink the coffee. The empathy spell had yet to fade completely, and he could sense her maternal sort of concern. Across the café, a businessman had his head in his hands and was staring at a plate of eggs with a constant roil of shame that Loki didn’t care to know the source of. Outside the window, a mother and two children strode by, and the contentment pouring off of them inspired more unease than the previous.

Loki ground his teeth together, clenched his hands around the cup. The shear _power_ behind the spell had faded, but it was as if it had dispersed into the air around him. This meant that rather than being overwhelmed by the intensity of emotion, he experienced a taste of any person’s state of mind within a twenty foot radius. At the current rate of dissolution, it would diminish completely within a day, but certainly not before his meeting with Stark. He was unsure where or not this was a boon. It was inarguably dishonest, but that should hardly weigh on him--- and yet it gave him a curious feeling of distaste.

His eyes found the clock over the bar. He had an hour and twenty minutes before Stark would begin expecting him. If he was entirely candid with himself, he had little idea of how to spend the interim. Last night’s dream had unsettled him to an unparalleled degree. He could no longer delude himself that the corpses in the prophecy had no personal vendetta against him. It was not mindless violence that drove them to kill; they hated Loki with an indomitable, precise ferocity.

The handle of the cup cracked at the top junction. Loki loosened his grip.

A logical conclusion to make was that the role of the corpses was as entrenched with meaning as the presence of the will-o’-the-wisp itself. For every new fact he garnered, he only discovered more mysteries. That was… infuriating.

What he needed was to test a different concentration of the empathic spell. At this point, it might be more profitable to devote several days to exploring the prophecy with the use of a sleeping agent. There was danger with that option however; he would be vulnerable spending a long stretch of time under that influence. The most viable option would be to move a bed to the Denver lab and have Damson guard him. He was not certain he trusted the spider enough for that, however. Thus far there had been no real tests of her loyalty, and he was not about to make something so tenuous the first.

His apartment was out of the question. It was warded, but there was a fairly decent chance that Victor had discerned its location.

Perhaps he should go into the market for a new residence.

Presented with a new avenue of thought, he spent the remaining time contemplating regions of Midgard he had visited. When the hands of the clock drew closer to noon, he flagged down the waitress and paid his check with a glamoured napkin. 

\---

Loki waited along the same route that Stark had taken previously and was presented with the man driving past in a vehicle an ostentatious shade of yellow. Insinuating himself inside of it was a simple extension of will. Stark’s surprised intake of breath brought a smirk to his face all the same. The empathic spell told him that Stark was a blend of adrenalin-tinged excitement and fear, but he still had not decided whether or not he wished to alert Stark to the spell’s existence, so he did not mention these facts. He turned his attention elsewhere. 

In his hands, Loki lifted the strange box that had been sitting on the seat. He turned it over, carefully, examining it. There were pieces of metal worked together into an elaborate assemblage. Indentations were lit with green light that terminated in elegant spirals, stretching over the corners with a flourish. The effect was quite exquisite to observe.

“It’s a puzzle box,” Stark told him. “Also, hi.”

“This is your gift to me,” Loki observed, bypassing the greeting.

It hadn’t been a question, but Stark addressed it as one. “Yeah. There’s another thing inside, but you’ve got to get the box open first.” Pride in his work thrilled through Stark, laid the fear neatly aside as though tucking it away in a cupboard.

A wry smile came to him, unheeded. “And I suppose you won’t tell me what the second item is.”

Stark tapped his hands against the vehicle’s steering device. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

“Of course.” Loki carefully scrutinized the way the pieces of the puzzle box interlocked before focusing on one in particular. He moved it down and to the right, and it made a strange sound but did nothing.

“If you were familiar with cartoons, you might have recognized that as the sound made when a Looney Toon slips on a banana peel,” Stark informed him in a sage tone, though the words made no sort of sense. “When you move a piece the wrong way, it’ll let you know. If you move it the right way, a bar of a song will play. When you’re done, you should have been able to play the entire song.” Uncertainty tugged the corners of Stark’s mouth downwards, and Loki had become accustomed enough to his expressions during their time at the beach to know there would have been an answering motion at the corners of his eyes had he not been wearing sunglasses. “If your, uh, musical taste doesn’t jive with mine, though, you can turn that feature off once you reach the inside.”

“I see,” Loki answered. Curiosity struck him all at once as he brushed his fingertips over the edges. “There is great craftsmanship in this,” he said, genuine. If his life depended on him throwing his lot in with a Midgardian, at least it was an intelligent and talented one.

Stark was grinning. The way he preened brought to mind an uncomfortably familiar sensation Loki had felt himself, on Asgard, before the fall. This was the first occasion that the spell had given him a glimpse of an emotion he did not need his magic to translate. People experienced emotions in different flavors. In this one, at least, he and Stark seemed to share a similar composition. Then again, the pleased, proud, yearning edge to the sentiment was not one Loki could imagine experiencing again. The people who had inspired it in him could no longer hope to.

“Thanks.” Stark’s expression appeared mired in that smile. “Normally, I’d start talking about how awesome my work is, and how it’s always spectacular and brilliant, but I’ll skip it today. Just this once. Because we have other things to talk about.”

“Such as?” Loki prompted as he continued to map out the box.

Fear spasmed in Stark, a snag in the cloth he was perceptibly working to smooth. “Let’s hear your pitch.”

“What do you mean?” Patiently, he kept the tone informal. It was clear to him that although the potential for harm wasn’t chief in Stark’s mind, it remained an understandable concern. Loki needed to disarm that intuitive response. With the villains he’d taken up arms with, it had never been an issue. With a _hero_ such as Stark, however, it was certain to be. He could not afford to be an object of terror for the man, but neither could he appear to be without teeth.

“If you’re going to try and sell me on this alliance thing, then I need to know your spiel.”

“Spiel,” Loki repeated with careful pronunciation.

“What would it entail?” Stark elucidated.

“Ah.” He turned that thought over and examined it in much the same way that he had done with the puzzle box. “I will not ask you to betray your other loyalties, if that is what you fear, Stark. What I seek is a mutual allocation of beneficial information, in such instances that it does not compromise our obligations to other allies.”

“So.” The rhythm that Stark was striking with his hands had become repetitive, constant. How a man could possess such nervous energy and yet inwardly remain so calculative was a mystery. “If I find out something helpful, or if you find out something helpful, we let each other know.”

“Yes,” Loki confirmed. There would need to be a discussion about specifics, but in Stark’s present state, a one-syllable response to that particular issue seemed kinder. “I believe there may also be some research advantages, as you appear to be quite interested in magic. For my part, I find Midgard’s primitive interpretation of technology perplexing. It should not take long for me to find my footing, but I have yet to take the time.”

“Oh my god.” Stark seemed… strangely baffled. “You want to be science buddies.”

“I…” Loki started but was forced to pause, having no grasp on the concept to which Stark was referring. “What?”

“I already have a science buddy!” Stark gamely continued on, either perturbed or amused; it was difficult to parse through. “I’m not sure how Bruce will feel about a time share, but I can ask.” At the mention of Banner, there was an odd change. Loki wondered if the empathic spell had malfunctioned, perhaps about to disperse further. Then Stark’s expression flickered to match the violent, clinical surge of rage he’d detected. Loki might have expected to feel that sort of anger from Victor; he had not expected it from charming, smiling _Stark_. It was bridled and buried almost as soon as it occurred, but he didn’t quite regain his poise. The angle of his smile, the corners of his eyes, and the incline of his head were still communicative.

“Is there something you wish to speak of?” Loki asked mildly.

“I…”

Loki sighed, making a choice and choosing courtesy. “Before you answer, you should be aware that I am under the lingering effects of a spell.” He traced a corner of the puzzle box and gave a pause for Stark to digest the sentence before elaborating. “It will dissipate soon, but at the moment I am capable of sensing surface emotions.” A flare of panic from Stark. “I cannot sense the thoughts behind them, however, if that is your concern.”

There was a long stretch of silence in which the information the spell fed him regarding Stark was an indefinable, roiling mass.

Then Stark mastered himself. “That’s something you should have told me the minute you got in my car.”

Loki dwelled on that. “Our alliance is not finalized,” he said by way of an explanation.

“So you were, what, getting a feel for my sincerity? Not okay.” Stark tore his eyes away from the road to give Loki a frustrated glance. “I can understand wanting an ace up your sleeve for dealing with an enemy, but if you’re coming to me looking for an alliance, you might try some sincerity yourself. And that’s not even getting into the whole invasion of privacy part of it. Not a good introduction to winning me over.”

“I see.” Strange, to be lectured by a Midgardian he could kill with very little effort. Stranger still that he found himself replying, “I will keep that in mind. Do you wish to reschedule this meeting?”

Stark didn’t hesitate. “No. I don’t have anything to hide. I’ve been genuine with you. That’s not the problem.”

A crooked smile found its way onto Loki’s face. “I imagine you believe the problem to be trust.”

“Well. Yeah.” Stark was nervous again, but he didn’t allow it into his speech. “I’d say that’s the root of it. On the beach, you told me that you wanted an alliance that you could rely on, one that was different from the kinds you’ve made with Doom and company. Maybe this will blow your mind, but trust is that difference. Not just you giving me your trust, but me earning it, and vice versa.”

In any other circumstances, he would have sneered. In these, he discovered that he couldn’t. “And how do you propose we accomplish this feat?” 

“Dunno. Not my area of expertise.” The man’s smile took on a vaguely self-deprecating quality before it recovered. “But I think it’s… a lot of little gestures adding up into something big. We need a foundation. We need a starting point.”

Loki bowed his head. He recognized an orator’s propensity for a set-up. “Your tone suggests you have some idea of where to begin.”

“Honestly?” Stark removed a hand from the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. “I have a problem, and I’ve been wondering whether or not to ask for your help.” Outwardly, his manner was sheepish, winsome. What the spell told him was quite contrary to that: the previous cold anger, sick fear, anxiety, restlessness. He was troubled, overwrought. At this point, he knew that Loki could see through the cracks of his charade, but habit was a hard thing to break. “There’s… some creature attacking people. Definitely magic. I have photographs, but I have no clue what I’m looking at. I brought the folder in case I made up my mind…”

That took Loki aback. The possibility of Stark asking something of him had occurred, of course, but he had thought that it would be for concessions, not legitimate aid. “Show me.”

“It’s under your seat.”

Loki retrieved the folder in question and perused the contents.

Stark continued to drive and said nothing, waiting for a reaction. It was obvious that the issue at hand was vitally important to him, that it was somehow personal. There was a faint tinge of desperation that could mean nothing else.

“These people are being haunted.” Loki settled on the picture of a family at a lakeshore. “For a spirit to manifest in this way, it must have been guided onto this plane using magic.” He brushed his thumb across the specter in the photograph. “Judging by the definition of human form, I would estimate the death having occurred within the last five years. The outline is highly delineated as well, suggesting a summons within the past few months.”

“So… Someone called up a ghost.” Stark’s voice was calm, almost bland. The emotion peeling away from him, however, was far more tumultuous. Loki evaluated the situation in his mind. Stark’s apprehension was either out of a need to protect these people, or they were already dead, in which case he was seeking a way to prevent more deaths from occurring. “And they’re controlling it.”

“Ah, the latter is not certain,” Loki corrected. “There are simple spells that could have been performed with these results, but the sheer amount of power they would need for fuel is quite rare. Manifesting the apparition would exhaust the caster. Controlling it afterwards?” A half-smile arose at the thought. “No, the best one could hope for would be to aim it in the right direction.”

Stark absorbed that with an expression as though there was a bad taste in his mouth. “Is there any way to figure out who did it?”

He considered it. There wasn’t enough information for a tracking spell, or if there was, it had not been divulged. “I suppose you could investigate who has been collecting ingredients for the spell work.”

“Like what?” Stark pressed.

“There are multiple avenues the caster could have taken.” Loki tapped the tips of his fingers against his knee thoughtfully. “One moment, I will return shortly.”

\---

Upon his appearance in England’s study, there was a strangled “ _Bloody hell!_ ” from the nation and equally startled “Mon dieu!” from a human-shaped blonde sitting across from him. 

Loki reached above the guest ---France, he assumed--- to take a book from the shelf. “I have need of this,” he informed them, and then promptly teleported out again.

\--- 

Once returned to Stark’s car, Loki flipped through the volume in his hands until he reached the section that skirted the edges of necromancy. He scanned the list of ingredients and foci. “Yes, you see, all of these are easily obtained. The most difficult acquisitions would… be…” His voice trailed off, and he stared numbly at the page for several beats. When he spoke, he barely registered his own voice. “The Lhaosin gland of a cherufe and the hearts of three drowned men.”

_If you encounter Namor, please convey to him that he owes me three corpses._

Victor.

A stirring of recognition occurred in Stark. “Hey, wait, so someone ganked that gland from one of the cherufe we rounded up?”

“I imagine so.” There was a quality of distance to his tone that Loki struggled to overtake. Already he was presented with a conflict of interest, and their alliance had not even progressed past theory. Quietly, “Take care, Stark. These are dangerous circumstances.”

“Kind of in the job description,” Stark replied, distracted. In point of fact, the emotional reaction Loki was sensing was one of acknowledgement and little else. The fear that was there had remained constant and did not peak. He accepted facts with a ready mind and adjusted accordingly; it was a quality Loki could approve of. “Thanks, though.”

“Stay out of moonlight,” Loki cautioned, thoughts racing ahead. He would need to discern whether or not Victor’s scheming would put Stark in direct danger. If that was the case, then Loki would have to intervene. “The specter will need it to kill.”

“What, really?” Stark sounded surprised, and from beneath the rest, there was a flickering curiosity, as involuntary as breathing.

“The rite used to bring the spirit over from the other side must be performed beneath the light of a waxing moon. That is the only time the spirit will be able to cause physical harm.” The swiftest course he could take would be to give Stark some idea of how to protect himself, at least until he could neutralize any threat from Victor. “Otherwise, they are insubstantial. Because it was summoned from the other side rather than remaining here from the moment of death, magic must be used to dispel it.”

“Good to know…” Stark’s knuckles were white as his grip on the wheel tightened.

“This specter is an aberration. Most spirits would not seek to harm mortals.” Loki considered how he wished to phrase his warning. “The fact that it is doing so means it likely had a predilection for violence in life. If this proves true, then it was specifically chosen for its purpose. It is doubtful this was an act of sentimentality.”

“Right.” Stark nodded briskly. “That fits with what I was thinking.”

So the man did know some details beyond what he had given. With any luck, it would be enough to preserve him. “Have I given you the information you wanted?”

“Yeah. Yeah, thank you.” Stark pulled away from his thoughts enough to give him a smile that was sincerely grateful. It had been a very long time since anyone had directed that sort of expression at Loki. The smile died quickly, lost under a heavy weight. “I’ll start looking into what big name practitioners might have gone after the cherufe, and I’ll find them.” A pause. “I, uh, I really appreciate this.”

Loki inclined his head slightly in answer.

“What about you? Is there anything…”

“Not as of yet,” Loki lied. Until he had unraveled more of the prophecy, he could not risk replying in any other way. “Only…”

“What…?” That curiosity shined through again, a pinprick of light.

“Perhaps we would both be more comfortable if we proceeded by composing a contract.” If he knew what lines to avoid crossing, it would be substantially easier to maintain good relations between them. Loki did not cherish the idea of treading blindly into this man’s expectations.

Stark made a speculative sound. “Wanna get some lunch and start hammering one out, then?”

“I’m afraid I have another appointment.” He needed to go to Doomstadt. He needed more information. If, for any reason, the spirit attacked Stark, his Iron Man suit would be utterly unequipped to do battle with it. Loki needed to remove that possibility. Spending nights in a windowless room would only be a viable option for Stark for so long. “I’ll leave the construction of the first draft in your hands. Send Lapis when you have something written. We can meet again and negotiate from there.”

“Can do,” Stark said slowly. “Do you mind if I bring in some outside help for putting it together?”

“I’d assumed that you would. Use your resources, Stark.” Loki gripped the puzzle box and England’s book closer to his body.

“Whoa, wait,” Stark interjected. “I know that look. You’re about to disappear.”

Loki gave him a blank stare. “Yes?”

“Okay, well, first: goodbye, nice talking to you.” Pointedly, Stark pushed his sunglasses down to make eye contact. “Now you say it.” A current of good-natured amusement rippled through the worry and vengefulness. Loki wondered how he managed to exist in both states at once. And yet, it wasn’t an act. Stark was looking at him in that way without an ulterior motive.

“Goodbye, Stark,” he indulged him.

As he left, he sensed rather than saw Stark smile.

\---

“ _Victor_ ,” Loki snarled as he stalked into the man’s lab. His eyes immediately tracked to the desk where he’d seen the cherufe organ in a jar, and found what he’d expected to: it was gone.

“What melodrama have you brought with you today, Loki?” Victor’s voice was weary in more ways than one, and Loki moved further into the room when he took note of it. The leg that had been previously injured did not appear to have healed, if Victor favoring his left side was anything to judge by. It seemed as though Loki could not help but plan for a fight when he visited Doomstadt.

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen Namor to give him your message.” He injected as much apologetic smoothness as he could into the words, but it didn’t quite cover the ferocity. “Were you able to obtain the three hearts he owed you?”

Victor stilled over his work. “Ah.”

“That _is_ a weighty syllable, isn’t it?” Loki smiled graciously, thought about a dagger, discarded the thought, and paced forward instead.

“I’d assumed you would discover the apparition. Your reaction, however, is not what I had expected.” Victor matched his tone, civil, monstrous. “Is that anger in your voice, Loki?”

Loki’s smile didn’t widen so much as add teeth. “I’m curious as to what you need a ghost for that you could not manage to accomplish yourself.”

“Even a man as powerful as Doom can benefit from anonymity.” Metal clinked against glass as Victor cleared the counter in front of him, presumably in anticipation of it being eventually upended.

“And does _a man as powerful as Doom_ benefit from his alliances?” Loki’s attention was only loosely fixated upon his words. The empathic spell appeared to have faded incrementally since his conversation with Stark, the distance it covered halved. He had no insight into Victor’s state of mind from that angle. It was not as detrimental as it might have been to someone else. He’d judged Victor’s mercurial emotions with far less than that from the beginning.

“That was a threat,” Victor observed. “But what prompted it, I wonder?” He turned his head towards Loki, mask accentuating his impassive stance. “We’ve agreed from the first that the Avengers are mutual prey so long as I leave Thor to you.”

“Well, I seem to have changed my mind.” Loki’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Free the spirit from its task!”

“And why, pray tell?” There was a sneer in the words. “Have you some design that mine has interrupted?”

“I have plans in motion that---”

“A lie,” Victor cut across him. “You have plans, but you have done nothing to act on them.” As if reciting a report, he elaborated. “A project that would, in due course, come to light in one of Stark’s corporations, with the loose objective of creating a device to ensnare the Hulk, engendered to inspire feelings of mistrust and betrayal.” He raised a gauntlet, made a dismissive gesture. Loki’s pulse stuttered as he remembered the con that he had considered and never fully initiated. Victor had people inside Stark’s companies, it was the only explanation. “We aimed for the same target, it seems, but my intent has _teeth_. You took the beginning steps and let them wither to nothing, for reasons that escape me.”

Banner was the target. Any danger to Banner’s life was danger to Stark’s; if the apparition did not put him in that position, then Stark would insinuate himself into it in an attempt to protect his ally. The sneer that slit his mouth was a lurid visualization of his anger. “Patience never was a virtue that you---”

“Do not presume to dress this as anything other than what it is.” Victor strode towards him, and before Loki could prepare for it, he was inside the spell’s reach. In contrast to the anger Loki felt, Victor’s rage brought to mind a river overtaking its banks, a constant creature rearing its head. “ _Cowardice_. Some part of you still fears crossing the line that will make you irredeemable in the eyes of your brother.”

A dead Midgardian’s face superimposed itself over his thoughts. _You lack conviction_.

Loki laughed. “Ah, yes, that must be why I brought an army to Midgard’s soil. Please, tell me how I sought my brother’s forgiveness by striving to kill him.”

Victor stalked closer, arms falling so that his hands were clasped behind his back. “When you fell from the bridge, did you attempt to slow your momentum, or did you surrender yourself to the fall and brace to land?”

The metaphor did not escape him, but the desire to respond to it did. “The Avengers are mine,” he bit out, vicious.

Danger became an entity at Victor’s fingertips, magic beginning to dance across the metal. “I fail to see why I should comply with that statement when you seem so slow to destroy them.”

In direct opposition to his personal wellbeing, Loki isolated a point of vulnerability and exploited it. “Perhaps you’d prefer it if I paid a visit to Reed Richards.”

Victor was in front of him in an instant, gloved fist gripping his throat and pinning him to the wall. Loki broke the hold easily enough, but there was magic waiting for him. He discovered that he was utterly unable to move; the trick was not new, it was not original, and it was a stopgap measure. His eyes met Victor’s through the slits in the man’s mask, and even without the aid of facial expressions, Loki could see the strain he was under. There was no hope of him keeping Loki in that position for long.

To illustrate that fact, Loki fought through the enchantment enough to smile.

Victor let out a wordless sound of fury and clenched one hand between them. Before Loki could begin to catalogue the sensation of constricting ropes, Victor slashed the hand to the side, and Loki was thrown across the room to slam into a table.

The laughter that escaped him then was thick with blood. He spat the red out, watched as it dotted the stone floor and splinters of wood beneath him as he pushed himself to his feet. “Forgive me. I’ve never been able to resist salting a wound.” He staggered upright, regained some fluidity of movement. “Nevertheless, my point has been made, I think.”

“An enemy for an enemy.” Victor angled his body toward him, and the line of it was still tense, but the magic had been studiously reined in. Internal conflict was obvious in his pause. “That is your proposal?”

“Leave the Avengers to me, and I will leave Richards and his ilk to you,” Loki confirmed, spreading his hands in a wide, generous gesture.

There was a long stretch of silence. Any answer that he gave would reveal his thoughts in some way, and Victor knew it. No matter what choice he made, he would lose ground. Attacking Loki to bring an end to the decision was clearly an option that had occurred to him, but it would be drawn out, and it would accomplish nothing. He could not hope to kill Loki in such a forward manner. The moment he evidently accepted all of this, Victor inclined his head. “Very well.”

“A fine choice.”

“You realize, of course…” There was a sadistic, self-satisfied twinge to the phrase. It suited Victor. “… That even if I release my hold on the spirit, it will not stop. I purposefully called forward a victim of that creature’s rampage. The man lost his life to the Hulk. I only brought him here. He meted out his own revenge.”

“As you intended,” Loki observed, shuttering his eyes with an exhale and then opening them again. “I will find a means of banishing him.”

“Yes, but why?”

Loki gave him a wounded look. “Do I ever question _your_ motives, Victor?”

“Frequently and with varied eloquence.” Victor noted evenly as he moved across the room to continue the experiment Loki had interrupted. It was a method of distraction, putting an object in his grasp that was not Loki. “This episode included.”

“Hmm,” Loki answered noncommittally. He took a breath; it hurt. Brushing splinters from his clothes, he said, “I’ll take my leave before we have a chance to incite each other further.”

“Wise.”

He left, an objective in mind.

\---  
\----  
\---

Pepper sat back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other as she sat on her desk. The move put a stylish red heel on display, and Tony had a sudden, vivid image of the bodily harm an angry Pepper could cause with accessories. She was studying him very carefully, one hand curled beneath an after-hours martini. “You want me to draw up a contract for an alliance with Loki.”

“Yes.” Tony swallowed. “I know it’s… I know it’s a hard thing to ask, but there’s no one else I’d trust more with this. I’ve brainstormed some points with Bruce, and I talked to Loki about it earlier today, but…” He took a deep breath, opened his hands wide. “Pep, you take my jumble of ideas and organize them into something workable, and I really need that here.”

She nodded, took a drink, and then, “Give me a few days to get a draft ready.”

Tension that he hadn’t even realized he’d had bled out of his body. “Thank you, Pepper,” he said, awash with relief.

“Wait and thank me after you see the result.” Into her hands, she took the tablet where he’d jotted down notes including every detail he could think of on what he and Loki were aiming for. Her eyes moved over the lines with crystalline attention. 

Several minutes passed in which Pepper read and Tony fidgeted. The sounds of people getting ready to leave for the night reached them from outside the glass walls of Pepper’s office. It was a comfortable place. Across the room, Tony could see pet therapists ---Pepper’s idea for employee stress, and one that had gone over extremely well--- wrapping up their business and walking out with employees, dogs of varying size happily going along at their sides. The aesthetic had changed, in a good way, since Pepper had taken the reins, more open with a warm color palette. Everything about it made Tony feel settled, content, smiling. 

“I can make something with this.”

He turned back and grinned at her. “Awesome. Do you want to get dinner? We could---”

“I have plans.” She stood and moved to sit behind her desk, still engrossed in the tablet. “I have some work to do first, though.”

“Oh.” Tony did his best to win the slap fight against the involuntary flare of disappointment. “I’ll get out of your hair, then.” He got to his feet.

Using a conversational tone that didn’t fool either of them, she caught him as he was about to leave. “I visited Phil’s grave a few days ago.”

Cold washed over and through him, crested in his lungs, compressed his heart.

“Be sure of what you’re doing, Tony.” Pepper’s eyes were on the screen, and her voice didn’t waver, but he knew her. Her left shoulder dipped a little low like that when she was scared (usually for him), she took a quick breath through her mouth when she was hurting, and her eyebrows made that neutral line when she was determined. “ _Please_. I will do everything I can to help you, but that won’t matter if you trust him too easily. It’s Loki. There’s an ulterior motive, good or bad.” Her eyes lifted, pinned him in place. “Either way, find it before this goes any further.”

“I will,” Tony replied numbly.

They stared at each other for a few increasingly awkward seconds and mumbled out a goodbye. Pepper went back to her work, and Tony gave into an old habit when faced with an emotional minefield: he ran in the opposite direction. In this case, that was out of Pepper’s office and into an elevator that would take him down to the lobby and open air.

“Hold the elevator, please!”

Tony shot out a hand to stop the doors.

An elderly woman got in, a leash wrapped in her hand with a dog-years similarly-aged german shepherd on the end. “Thank you.”

He still felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him, but he managed a smile. “No problem.” Unable to help himself, he reached down to pet the dog, who promptly licked a wet stripe on the arm of his suit. Dogs were freaking adorable. “Who’s this?”

The woman gave him a dimpled smile. “Her name is Dolce. We’re with pet therapy.”

“I guessed as much.” Tired of leaning down, Tony knelt in front of the dog to give her a proper scratch behind the ears.

“You’re Mr. Stark, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head back up to her. “Yep.”

“I’m Bridget,” she offered. “I just wanted to thank you for giving my team the opportunity to do this. With the money we’ve gotten, we’ve been able to rescue more animals and extend the program.”

“It, uh, it wasn’t my idea, actually.” Tony rubbed at Dolce’s neck, and the encouraging tail wag went up a notch. “That was all Ms. Pepper Potts.”

“And I thanked her too.” Bridget righted a purse strap on her shoulder; it was bright red, her pantsuit was purple, she had a printed neck scarf, and her earrings were green squares. He decided he liked her. “I’m very thorough with gratitude.”

A low growl started in the dog’s throat, and Tony turned to look at her, bewildered. Dolce was staring into the corner of the elevator. Then, slowly, she lowered her head and took an odd stance, her body going rigid. She gave two piercing barks.

“Uh, is she okay?” Tony asked.

Bridget knelt down to rub at Dolce’s back, looking confused. “Yes. Yes, it’s just…”

A thrum of fear went through him inexplicably. “What is it?”

“Well, Dolce’s a retired cadaver dog,” Bridget explained. She shifted to glance at Tony, the lines of her face set in concern. “She’s signaling that there’s a corpse in the elevator.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Tony’s mind hashed through the possibilities rather quickly, chased them all to their end. Very calmly, he told her, “Don’t worry. The walls are too thin for there to be something in them. I’ll have security check the elevator shaft just in case though.” He snuck his hand into his pocket for his phone and as unobtrusively as possible, he took a picture.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Bridget gave a smile, but remained on the floor with the still-stiff dog.

Later, after he’d alerted security for something he was almost certain they wouldn’t be needed for, Tony checked his phone and the photograph he’d taken.

As clear as day, the heat-haze outline of man stood in the elevator corner.


	10. Motes of Dust

His grip tightened around his phone, knuckles white.

“Is something the matter?” Bridget rested a hand on the crook of his arm as they crossed the lobby, her heels and the dog’s nails clacking on the floor. The concern on her face snapped him back to the present. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

Tony barked out a laugh, and got his expression under control, smoothed out the edges of panic. “It’s nothing. Just a message I wasn’t looking forward to.” He turned a hundred-watt grin on her. “Can I walk you and Dolce to your car?” He needed to see her off, needed to get another picture to make sure the thing was after him and not her, and _Christ_ , Pepper was still upstairs. It was a Stark building, there wasn’t going to be any shortage of targets. Fuck, he had to get it away from everyone. 

She smiled a smile with dimples and looped her arm through his. “We’d be delighted.”

Just outside the building, a company van was waiting the pick up the therapists and their canine friends. Tony stood on the curb as Bridget loaded Dolce in the backseat and climbed in. His brain was already miles ahead, thinking of how long he had before moonlight became a problem and where he could go, when Bridget reached out and caught his hand, pressing it between hers. “Take care of yourself, all right? I know stress when I see it.”

Tony pressed back. “Yes, ma’am. Have a safe drive home.” He leaned forward to scratch behind Dolce’s ears one more time. “You too.” _And thanks for the heads up,_ went unsaid.

The minute the van pulled away, Tony rushed back inside. He swept his phone’s camera around in a circle, and then checked the footage. His hanger-on was still there, looming against the lobby’s wall, watching. 

After a few fortifying breaths, Tony lifted his phone to his ear to call Natasha. He had the strange feeling he was going to need someone in more than one place when this shit hit the fan, and if it could be anyone, he wanted it to be Nat.

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Nat, hey, uh…” He floundered for phrasing. “You know that evil ghost thing that’s killing people who are pro-Bruce, pro-Hulk?” He gave the security guard behind the desk a bright look and kept walking, headed for the other end of the floor where a side hallway hosted a set of conference rooms. “It’s after me. Like, right now.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “ _You went to see Pepper. Are you still in the building?_ ”

“How--- nevermind, yeah, I’m still here. But I think I should leave…” In his head, he mapped out the different paths to Pepper’s office and the windows involved that could leak moonlight. “I don’t want this thing to get distracted and go after someone else.”

“ _No. Stay there. It’s familiar ground. Get off the phone with me, call Pepper, and ask her to clear the building. Call me back afterwards._ ”

His mind jumped tracks, absorbed what Natasha said, adjusted routes. “Got it.” Tony hung up, pressed and held the two key.

The second ring was cut off by, “ _Tony?_ ” and he went through a kaleidoscope of relief and fear.

“Pep.” He fought to keep his voice steady and was mostly successful. After a forcibly slowed inhale, he said, “Remember that time when there were robot death spiders in the air vents?”

“ _I’m curious as to how you think I could forget._ ”

With a click, the doors to Conference Room B opened for the key card he fumbled from his pocket. “I need you to evacuate the building like there are robot death spiders in the air vents.”

“ _Tony,_ are _there robot death spiders in the air vents?_ ” she asked, but the last of the sentence was punctuated by the overhead speakers playing a pre-recorded message instructing people to leave the premises in an orderly fashion.

“Um…” He rubbed at his temples. “This is less of a robot death spider situation and more of a _Poltergeist_ situation.”

There was a very long pause. “ _So either there’s a ghost in the building, or it was constructed on a burial ground. I reviewed the location myself, so I’m assuming the former._ ”

“How else does one interpret a _Poltergeist_ reference?” he quipped, but his heart was pounding. “Pep…”

“ _Tony, it’s all right._ ” That was the voice that she’d used whenever he’d woken up badly, whenever something reminded him of Obie, whenever he was convinced he’d fallen short and was trying to hide it. “ _I’m packing up right now, and I’m going to make sure everyone gets out. Do your thing. We’ll be okay._ ” He heard the movement of her desk chair as she got up to leave her office. “ _But you better keep me updated._ ”

“Promise,” he swore, turning in a slow circle at the head of the table in the room’s center. It was interiorly located: no windows. That much was in his favor.

She seemed to hesitate over an empty space where they used to say something that couldn’t fill it anymore. Finally, “ _Good luck._ ”

“Thanks.” One of his hands gripped the back of the chair in front of him, knuckles white. “Be safe.” Before he could change his mind, he ended the call. 

Another sweep with his camera revealed the specter watching him with a tilted head at the opposite end of the table. Assured that it was still focused on him and not on the people evacuating, he dialed Natasha again.

“ _Where are you?_ ” Natasha asked without preamble.

“Conference Room B. No windows.” He scoped out the area around him and tried not to think about the fact there was a creepy dead guy watching him from across the room. “Not much of anything, really. A table and some uncomfortable looking chairs. And, I mean, I know _you_ could probably kill a guy nine ways to Sunday with this stuff, but I---”

“ _First: don’t be absurd. It’s a ghost. I’d kill it with something else. Second: stop babbling and be quiet._ ”

Tony snapped his mouth shut.

“ _Now, do you hear music?_ ”

Straining his ears, he frowned. “Nope.”

“ _Then you have some time. We’ve been working on getting an ID on the thing since you told us what it was. Once we do, we can neutralize it. We’ve been given some advice as to how._ ”

“What kind of time frame are we talking about here?” Tony had been avoiding looking at the place where the specter had been standing, but now he found his eyes locking there, wondering what it was doing, wondering if it had moved.

“ _Less than a day, more than an hour._ ”

“Right,” he said, false chipperness seeping into his voice even though he’d told it not to. “I’ll, uh. I’ll just let you get back to work. Don’t let anyone try to come keep me company. They’d be in danger coming through the lobby, and this is a bad guy they can’t fight. I’ll be fine.”

“ _All right._ ” Not too long ago, Natasha probably would have hung up after that, but now she preceded it with, “ _I’m a phone call away, Tony._ ”

A small smile found its way onto his face, “Thanks, Nat.”

And she was gone, and he was alone in a room with an invisible killer ghost.

There was one more call he could make to change that.

His mouth felt dry. 

He wished he had gum. He liked gum. He liked most minty things. Minty was good. Minty was like an automatic illusion of freshness, and sometimes after a bad day, that was just absolutely---

“Fuck.” He shook his head, brought his thoughts back in order.

Facts, he needed to consider _facts_. The rest of the team couldn’t get to him. They weren’t equipped to fight this kind of thing. Someone who knew what they were dealing with, though, someone who _knew_ what they were dealing with after just a short glance at a photograph… _That_ person, that magic-having, genius, lethal person, might be able to make a difference. If he was going to be serious about this proposed alliance with Loki, he sincerely doubted he was going to get a better opportunity to put it to the test than now.

Of course, if he’d completely misread the situation, then he was basically putting himself alone in a room with the aforementioned invisible killer ghost and, well, Loki, which most people would agree was not an ideal combo.

A chill ran through him.

He was alone in a room with a monster that he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand the existence of, couldn’t impact at all.

It could be anywhere, it could be---

He screwed his eyes shut tight, felt the fear course through him, and then cycled it out until he could breathe again.

He was going to call Loki, Loki was going to show up, and then he was going to distract himself with conversation and snark and the future instead of thinking about the thing in the room that he couldn’t fight, the thing that wanted to hurt his friends.

He was going to stay put, he was going to be some completely fucking unflappable, gorgeous bait, and Natasha was going to figure out how to put this thing to rest.

With only a slight and quickly-quashed tremor, Tony lifted his phone again, contacted JARVIS, and relayed a message to Lapis.

\---  
\----  
\---

For the first few weeks after he had freed himself from Asgard’s grip in the wake of the Chitauri invasion, he had sought little other than solitude and what shadows could bring him. In his seclusion, he constructed several false identities to supplement what he then suspected would be a prolonged residence in Midgard. It gave him something, without attachment to poisoned memory, to occupy his mind: constructing entire lifetimes behind a strange name, stepping into them and allowing their truths to take root in his mind, weaving new stories with the grace of a quick thought and soft word.

One such identity wasn’t created so much as borrowed.

Jacinda had been a hedge witch who lived and died, at what by mortal standards could be considered a ripe age of a hundred and three, in the Lefka Ori. He’d found her corpse on the floor of her small, warded home at the direction of Victor, and had appropriated many of her supplies to begin his own collection. Having recognized her dabbling in necromancy for what it was, he was leery of spurning her ---necromancers tended to be particularly, bitterly spiteful after they died---, and so he had respectfully buried her wizened body beneath the cottage floor so that she might keep her home.

Three days later, enough of her essence had seeped into the home’s framework to render it completely uninhabitable, and he had taken her name and face, and left the rest behind.

It was through this name that he answered SHIELD’s secretive, hushed search for how to dispel a spirit through backroom channels. Jacinda the Hedge Witch’s fondness for reanimating skeletons to tend her gardens and guard her hearth was apparently a well-kept secret indeed if SHIELD was unaware. They thought her a kind-hearted, minor practitioner, and Loki used that to his advantage.

Satisfied that he had provided enough bread crumbs to preserve Stark’s life, he traveled to Denver.

\---

Damson was not overly concerned with his presence when he approached her after depositing the puzzle box from Stark on a shelf inside to be solved later that night.

Through means that were a mystery to him, she had gathered a collection of sizable rocks in front of the cabin. As he watched, she coated her appendages in a thin layer of her acidic venom and began to carve holes in the stone. She’d already created sizable tunnels by the time he’d arrived and did not appear prepared to slow anytime soon. The result was a maze of passages just large enough to fit her body, the entire structure at a level with Loki’s shoulders. He’d need to disguise it with a glamour at some point, but for now, he watched her progress.

“You’re making a home,” Loki mused from where he sat on the porch steps. He resolved to bring her more suitable building material, something other than the rough gray of her current walls.

Damson paused to chatter something at him and then continued with her labor.

“ _Impressive_ ,” he told her in the All Speak.

The answering clicks seemed vaguely more pleasant.

“I need a new home as well,” he murmured, leaning down to trace his fingers through the dirt at his feet. His… _experience_ with the empathic spell had alerted him to the fact that he had nowhere to go if he felt the need for sanctuary. Finding an appropriate location might prove to be a well-needed distraction. His altercation with Victor, his burgeoning alliance with Stark, and the damned dreams had taken up such a great deal of his time that he had little to spare for his experiments or other projects. When had he last altered the dome’s configuration just inside the room behind him? And when had he consciously made the decision to let his designs against Banner from within Stark Enterprises crumble?

He was preoccupied.

That was dangerous. It was the sort of opening he had capitalized on to kill enemies in the past. What was to say someone would not do the same to him now?

 _Victor_.

He clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, felt something constrict in his chest. He needed to bring this to an end.

A familiar trill of birdsong made him open his eyes again and brought him back to the present. Light reflected in jewels as a familiar bird descended from overhead, inspiring a feeling of instinctual apprehension in Loki.

Lapis came to land on his outstretched wrist, spilled out words in green with a sort of urgency that only served to put him more on edge.

_The ghost found me. Friends trying to ID the guy and put him to rest. Kinda stuck all by my lonesome. Wanna help?_

The message was followed by an address.

Loki stared at it blankly, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the sick sensation of worry at the implication that the one individual his premonitions suggested could help him was in danger. “He cannot be serious.”

Lapis tilted its jeweled head and chirped.

Sighing, he covered his eyes with a hand. “Of course he is.”

\---

There was no outward indication that anything of importance was happening in the building. Ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars ---vehicles Loki had come to accept as staples of disaster scenarios in locations such as these--- were nowhere to be found. Regardless of this, Loki knew that there would be SHIELD agents nearby, and for that reason, he kept himself invisible to them as he walked a perimeter down the unremarkable street.

He made note of at least six agents: four visible from neighboring office complexes, one on a roof, and one pretending quite convincingly to have car trouble.

Once he was satisfied that he was missing nothing of significance, he teleported to where Stark would be waiting.

“It hasn’t even been a day since we saw each other last. How, pray tell, are you already in mortal peril?” Loki demanded as he appeared inside the room, fists clenched expressively at his sides.

Stark made a sound that he would probably deny later, pure surprise as he nearly dropped the phone in his hands. “How--- How did you _do_ that? You _keep_ doing that!”

Loki decided not to explain that he had felt safe teleporting to his current position because he’d used the building for espionage on several occasions, and instead focused on the specter now watching him with some interest from a point behind Stark’s shoulder. They were close, close enough that Stark would have felt the warmth from the other form had the spirit been alive. “Stark,” he began calmly, “I believe you would prefer this chair, here.” He pulled the one in front of him out, near the middle of the table, and took the seat beside it.

The man frowned. “Okay?” Then a thought visibly occurred to him, and he blanched. “You can see it. Fuck, it’s right beside me, isn’t it?”

A humorless half-smile came to him. “I suggest you move.”

Stark did, rather quickly.

The spirit attempted to follow, its movements a graceful glide in one moment and a contorted static in the next.

Loki lifted a hand and drew a circle around them in the air. A brushstroke of green followed his fingertips, leaving a stripe in the air that sank slowly to the floor like a piece of rippling ribbon. The edge of it made contact with the specter’s grasping hand and dissolved several digits at the last joint as the magic continued on its path downwards.

With a shriek that couldn’t be heard but made a chill run through Loki nonetheless, the creature withdrew its smoking hand, not quieting even when it healed in a manner of seconds. In a sudden burst of speed, it loped around the circle now burned into the ground, a silent howl stretching its mouth impossibly wide.

Stark shuddered in the chair beside him, gazing with avid interest at the evidence of Loki’s magic. “God, what… It feels like there’s something…”

“Heavy in the air?” Loki provided when he didn’t finish. “The spirit is screaming. The living cannot process the sound on this plane. Your body still reacts, however.”

“Okay, don’t take this as me being ungrateful, because I am really, really, super grateful, but what did you _do_?” Stark’s voice was parched, a man who knew curiosity and had realized he was wading in the shallows of a subject demanding his attention.

Loki drew a second circle in the air, layered it over the first. “I created a barrier. The creature cannot cross it.”

Calculating eyes slid away from the bands of green to search Loki’s face. “Your tone. You don’t sound like you think we’re safe.”

“Do not misunderstand me. There is no way for it to reach us…” Lowering his hands imperiously to his sides as a dome solidified above them, Loki took a seat. “But it will soon learn that. I assume your colleagues are seeking to destroy it?”

“They said they’d gotten some advice on how to do that,” Stark confirmed, which Loki already knew, but there was no need for him to divulge that. “It’s been about… five hours?”

Loki suppressed a smirk. If SHIELD had followed his instructions precisely, then the ritual could reach completion at any time. “It will sense their attempts and seek to kill them before they can succeed,” he cautioned.

That same primal protectiveness that Loki had sensed through the empathic spell previously flashed in Stark’s eyes, and he must have been particularly unnerved if his face was so communicative at this juncture. Loki would hate to think that anyone who had caught his attention in such a way would be so transparent in any other circumstances. “How do I keep it from going after them?”

Spreading his hands in a magnanimous gesture, Loki prompted, “Why was it targeting you?”

Stark needed no further instruction. He spun his chair around to face where Loki’s stare had fallen, correctly interpreting it as the specter’s location. With an affected slouch, he presented the smile of a performer. “So. I heard you hate Bruce Banner.”

The creature shrieked and lashed out at the barrier so violently that the wraithlike suggestion of fingernails appeared to peel back an arm’s length from Loki’s face.

Another shudder ran through Stark, and his breathing quickened even though he could neither see nor hear why. “Let me tell you a little about him.” Stark crossed one leg over the other and beamed. “I like talking about Bruce. It makes me happy to talk about people who make me happy, and he does. He’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. He’s brilliant, fantastic, and he knows me on a level not many people do--- on a level not many people _can_ , because our minds may work differently, but they’re made of a lot of the same materials, you know?”

With every passing word, the specter threw itself at the barrier, gaping maw formed around a silent snarl. Its shape was barely recognizable as human, and Loki was able to see an approximation of the monster the man had been in life.

“He’s smart. That’s not really news, though. Everyone knows that much.” Stark spread his palms in a generous gesture. “Why don’t I tell you some things you couldn’t know?”

It spun away from them, contorting, hands clawing at empty air, furious. Its head thrashed from side to side, wide still-human eyes sweeping across the room as though searching for another way in. If Victor had still been connected to it, Loki had no doubt that it would have found one; without that association, it did not have the resources. That realization made Loki appreciative of his apparent luck. Stark likely would have been killed if Loki had not discovered the information necessary to interfere.

This night would have gone very differently for them both. Stark would have died, and Loki would have dreamt the same.

“How about this: when Bruce gets to the last page of a book he’s reading, he uses a bookmark to cover-up the paragraphs, and reveals one line at a time so every sentence is a surprise. He’s like that about a lot of things--- he practically devours the beginning and the middle, but he tries to draw it out when he thinks it might be the end. After our first mission together---”

Loki frowned, his thoughts unraveling inexplicably.

“---he started acting like that. Like it was almost over. But it wasn’t almost over. We, the Avengers, weren’t almost over. Now he’s back to living life like it’s the middle, and guess what?” Stark leaned forward, and the pitch of his voice was dark as though he could somehow make a dead thing fear. “There’s not a damned thing that is going to take that from us, least of all you.”

Even though the lack of windows meant that the creature had no means of causing them physical harm, the ferocity it directed towards his barrier gave Loki a feeling of unease. He studied it carefully, attempted to identify and catalogue the magic involved, turning the facets of it over in his head to ensure that he had made no mistakes. The aura of Victor’s magic hung over its shoulders, heavy and cold, practical and obvious. Nevertheless, Loki felt certain there was nothing he had missed, that it presented no real threat to them isolated, without help. His barrier would serve to distract it, give it something to throw itself tirelessly against. That was the most they could hope for while Stark’s comrades worked to defuse a corpse in a distant grave.

For the first time since entering the room, Loki felt the full weight of what he was doing: aiding an Avenger, with the intent of preserving that Avenger’s life, alone, at a location that he was less familiar with than the man in question. He experienced a flash of desperation, of nervous energy and disbelief, some relative of claustrophobia. Defiantly, he dispelled it before it could drive him to make a rash decision ( _stab, injure, weaken, kill_ ).

Against the light of his barrier, a memory of England’s skeleton, standing to let the will-o’-the-wisp fit against his chest, superimposed itself.

Stark was necessary.

“Continue along this line,” Loki advised, calm, conversational. “You have its undivided attention.”

Stark gave him a sideways glance, false smile and tone never wavering. “Hulk, though… He’s looks at things in the opposite way, you know? He didn’t even realize things like beginnings, middles, and ends, existed. His life was just this series of brief, explosive moments before they were stripped away, and he went under again.” The man sounded sincerely fond; it was baffling.

A sudden burst of impact, of light, snapped his attention back onto the matter at hand and away from the telling emotion playing across Stark’s face.

He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the energy expended by the specter had doubled. Of course, the beast being discussed was responsible for its death, so perhaps that wasn’t surprising after all.

The human in the room continued, oblivious. “I think he started to realize he could recognize people. That for once, he saw the same faces over and over again.” Stark reclined backwards once more, looked audaciously relaxed. “He could attach thoughts and feelings to that. We weren’t just unknown components of these short flares of consciousness. We became constants.” The feeling in the man’s voice was contained in a practiced manner, but Loki could hear a subtle shift in cadence that he filed away in memory along with the rest of Stark’s words. The insight into this dynamic between the Avengers could become valuable. “He learned he could have a middle, and he didn’t want to stop seeing these familiar faces.”

Something flickered in the specter’s outline, a wave of fine-grained static--- limbs became impossible to define, features seemed to be sanded away.

Loki stiffened imperceptibly.

As quickly as the change had occurred, the specter reverted to its previous state.

That had not been the same fluctuation as before; it was caused by an outside source.

“I don’t want to stop seeing him either, him or Bruce. They’re my friends.” Stark said the last word with what Loki thought to be an unnecessary amount of fervor.

“Momentarily disregarding your dubious assignation of the word _friend_ ,” Loki interjected, “This may be an opportune time for you to check on your colleague’s progress. Quickly, before it calms enough to recognize what is happening.”

Stark didn’t hesitate. He unobtrusively turned his phone over, and when the screen came to life, his fingertips skimmed over the surface. After the message was started, Stark’s eyes lifted away from it, his attention returning to the air occupied by their quarry as he continued to type.

Without prompt, Stark continued. “Which brings me to why you’re here. You want to kill me for caring about them? Go ahead and try. Come at me, bro.”

It attempted to shriek, but folded in on itself as if in pain.

“Ah,” Loki noted calmly as the creature’s body spasmed.

With a stuttering cry, it split into thirds in the thoracic region, each new torso attacking the barrier at a slight angle before snapping together in a single form.

The magic rooting it in place was struggling to keep it on its present plane.

“It’s gotta suck… I mean, I’m right here? And you just can’t fucking do anything.” Stark gave a sympathetic smirk that clashed with the steeped rage behind his eyes. “I’m not one to gloat--- well, that’s a lie. I love to gloat. It’s like ego candy.” His hand clenched noticeably. Loki saw that the phone’s screen was glowing once more with what he presumed was a response. Stark glanced at it, and his smile took on a vicious edge. Loki knew triumph when he saw it. “So let me indulge my metaphorical sweet tooth here. You can’t reach me. You can’t hurt me. I’m going to walk out of this room alive, and you aren’t going to leave it at all.”

The change wasn’t immediately apparent.

A single red pinprick of light came into sight, set into the creature’s chest, flickering like the flame of a small candle.

“Let’s just be honest here.” Stark’s smile had morphed into a sneer. It was… a surprise to see him capable of its maliciousness. “You don’t stand a chance.” 

“It is starting,” Loki advised under his breath, finding it abruptly difficult to maintain focus on the task at hand.

The second-long look that Stark shot him grew several degrees warmer, richer, in acknowledgement before it reverted to its previous malice. “Your time’s almost up.”

The red flare of light ripped across the specter’s chest as it lifted a hand to slash futilely at the barrier. Spider-webs of cuts spread, giving the impression that its magic was splitting it apart and shining through.

“You’re not going to be able to hunt anyone anymore.”

Loki barely had the time to recognize the extent of the damage done before a gash stretched to sever the specter’s arm.

The appendage fell away as motes of dust.

“You’re not going to be able to hurt anyone anymore.”

A rend from navel to shoulder made the creature’s left half sag to the side.

“You’re done.”

“Stark,” Loki breathed. “Close your eyes.”

And somehow, in spite of Loki’s nearness, in spite of how easily Loki could take advantage of it, in spite of the magic in the room--- Stark did.

The specter _burst_ in a flare of light that would have blinded Stark, magic spattering Loki’s barrier like the meat of an overripe fruit. Everywhere it struck, his barrier began to necrose, shriveling to nothing in great swathes. Loki swore and installed another layer, his mind latching onto the surge of familiarity he felt when his magic came into contact with it. Victor’s stored enchantment clashed against his, the two powers ill-suited to one another, volatile, caustic.

“What’s happening?” Stark’s voice was calm, but it was the sort of calm a person wore rather than felt.

“The remaining magic of… the individual who cast the spell is striking out against mine,” Loki answered, one hand outstretched to the already diminishing barrage. “It will not last much longer.” A sensation much like static shock traveled up and down his arm; there was no longer a recognizable shape, human or otherwise, attached to Victor’s power. “The specter is gone. Your allies have succeeded, but you are lucky that I am here, Stark. The backlash would have killed you.”

“Can I open my eyes?” His tone was strange.

Without a change in his stance or the power he was expending, Loki stole a glance at him. Stark was still reclined in the chair and would have appeared to be perfectly poised to anyone who might have seen him. That meant little to Loki, who could see the invisible, who could see the dirt and muck and light sunken into a person’s brain. Stark sat with false composure, and it was unexpectedly as familiar to Loki as Victor’s magic--- because those were not a stranger’s tactics he was observing. The truth of that came hurtling into him from all sides. They were his own, reflected and communicated from another person, the same verse in a new key.

“Oh, I suppose,” Loki responded, and none of it encroached on his voice despite its damnable readiness to.

Stark watched him.

Stark watched him dispel the rest of Victor’s meticulously executed plot, falling shards of red light illuminating his face, and that should not have been as exhilarating as it was.

\---  
\----  
\---

Tony’s mind was reeling all the way through the confirmation call to Natasha and the update call to Pepper. He had only been loosely aware of those two conversations as they were happening. He thought he might have promised Pepper lunch and details at some point, but he had so many different trails of thought vying for the spotlight that he couldn’t be sure. She’d probably heard how shaken he was, though. It was next to impossible for him to hide that kind of thing from her. If they had set a lunch date, she’d remind him. 

Until then… what the hell was going through his head? He knew what he _should_ be thinking about: the fact the specter was gone, that it couldn’t hurt people anymore, what it meant that Loki had shown up to help him, what the effects of that would be, etc.

Instead, all that he could concentrate on was how Loki had looked, one hand outstretched behind a wall of shimmering green as he fought back shocks of red--- like he barely noticed, like it was simple, easy.

“Uh, so…” Tony started to direct at Loki as they walked side-by-side down the hall that would take them to the lobby. Christ, there was a lot he wanted to ask, and there probably wasn’t a lot of time for it. He’d put a sizable chunk of money on Loki teleporting out at any moment.

His phone rang again. 

Wondering if Natasha or Pepper had maybe forgotten something, Tony checked the caller ID. It was Bruce.

Tony froze mid-step, and it felt like the ground had dropped out from beneath his feet.

Beside him, Loki drew to a stop as well. There was almost a little over a foot of distance between them, and Loki seemed cagey about messing with it. “Is something wrong?” The words sounded as though they had left him with a bad taste.

“I’ve got to take this.” Tony’s mouth was dry. Bruce knew. Tony wasn’t sure how or why he was so certain of that, but he was.

Loki bowed his head minutely and began to turn away. “I will give you privacy.” He paused, as if remembering something. “Goodbye, Stark.”

“Wait, just…” But as the phone gave its second ring, Loki was gone. Tony stared at the empty space where Loki had been standing and felt like he had missed something, or was actively in the process of missing something, or was… Fuck. He needed time to think, for just five seconds, to just wrap his mind around the last day, or just…

A third ring.

Tony took a deep, slow breath and tried to steady himself against the waves of relief, guilt, trepidation, and hope competing with each other in his chest. It didn’t help, but he answered anyway. “Hello?”

“ _Are you all right?_ ”

Scrunching his eyes shut, Tony took another ragged breath. “Yeah, man. I’m fine. Everything’s… settled. I’m fine.”

There was a very long pause, so long that Tony almost thought Bruce wasn’t there anymore. “ _I was in the lab when you contacted JARVIS about the bird._ ”

He leaned sideways, hit the wall with his shoulder, and slid down it to sit on the floor. “Yeah?”

“ _I was worried, and…_ ”

“And curious,” Tony filled in for him, a soft smile on his face. “So you went through my files, looking for a ghost.”

“ _Tony…_ ” Bruce voice stalled out, and a stuttering breath was audible over the phone. “ _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ”

“Fury said…” God, no, that wasn’t true. “Fury advised against it, and I…” How the hell was he supposed to say that he’d agreed? That he’d thought that Bruce’s reaction might be--- Tony swallowed, hard. “And I thought…”

“ _You thought I’d blame myself,_ ” Bruce’s tone was light, but Tony knew him better than that. “ _That I’d drive myself into the ground or decide this was another sign the world was better off when I was on the run._ ”

“I…”

“ _You have done everything in your power,_ ” Bruce cut over him, but he still didn’t sound angry. His pitch gave the impression that this was an every-day conversation, that he just wanted to discuss something. “ _To make me welcome here, to make me feel like this is my home, to be my friend. But when it came down to it, you didn’t trust me to stay._ ”

Everything between Tony’s ribs constricted. He lost the air in his lungs. He felt… There was no other word for it, he felt terrified. “No, Bruce, that’s not---”

Whatever energy had been in Bruce’s voice left it. “ _I know, Tony. I know that’s not the message you meant to give, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is something we clearly need to talk about._ ” There was a sound on the other end like Bruce had started pacing. This was why Tony’s friendships failed. He hurt them; even when he wasn’t trying to, he hurt them. “ _You said that Fury was involved, so I know that… whatever he told you, it would have been like an order. I get that. And I know you wouldn’t have liked it, and I know you would have eventually told me, but…_ ”

Tony couldn’t speak. God, he needed to say something, anything. Why the hell couldn’t he get the words out?

“ _These people died because they defended me. I should have known they existed._ ” Bruce’s voice broke at the last, and something in Tony broke with it.

“I’ll come home,” Tony said in a rush, sudden, a fractured dam. It came out so goddamn desperate. “I’ll come home, and we can stay up, and we can talk for as long as you want to. I should have… told you, I should have---”

“ _Tony, stop. You don’t need to sound like that. I’m not mad. I’m not. I… This whole thing is--- and you could have died tonight. It went after you because you care about me._ ” The next bit came out really quiet, with that careful honesty that came to Bruce as easy as breathing. “ _This could have waited until you were home and had some time to rest, but I needed to hear your voice. I’m not mad. I couldn’t seem to stop talking once I started. I needed to hear that you were okay._ ” The self-deprecating smile might have been silent, but Tony knew it was there.

“Bruce, this whole day has been…” Tony gave a shallow, choked laugh that scraped his throat on its way out. Between the meeting with Loki, the ache of that moment with Pepper, the specter coming, seeing Loki and his magic, and this phone call… His brain was so fucking scrambled.

“ _I want to hear about it._ ”

Tony knocked the back of his head against the wall dully. His heart was thudding. “Well… that works out cuz I want to tell you about it.” He didn’t manage the note of levity he’d wanted to, but he knew Bruce would get the idea.

“ _Then we’ve got a plan._ ” Bruce’s pacing stopped. “ _Come home, okay?_ ”

Slowly, Tony opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”


	11. Swan Dive

A thought skittered with alarming frequency across Loki’s mind, draped in the voice of his mother, and proclaiming an observation Loki did not accept: _you are running away_. It began after he’d left Stark standing in that hallway, and it persisted. The manner in which the thought affected those following it ---seeping in, changing, weaving--- left Loki unsettled. He could not define it, beyond the certainty that it involved Stark.

Loki shifted onto his side from where he was sprawled on the roof of the Denver cabin, turning Stark’s puzzle box over in his hands. Thus far, he had only managed to unlock the first ten seconds of the song that accompanied the locking mechanism. If one were to include various instances of trial and error, Loki had also uncovered several irritating sounds denoting failure (his least favorite of which was the chorus of disappointed noises in an orchestrated crowd response), a pulsation feature that had nearly caused him to drop the cube, and an ostentatious laser show.

Never had he doubted that Stark possessed a sense of humor, and he foresaw that as long as he held this device, he never would.

With that thought came a memory: Stark’s face illuminated with the red of dying magic, his attention rapt, curious, _captivated_.

_You are running away,_ that quiet corner of his mind asserted.

Loki’s hands tightened around the puzzle box, but he did not attempt to move another piece; he simply gripped it and let the sharp corners bite into his skin until the thought passed.

This was unacceptable, and he knew it. He should possess a greater mastery over his own mind. If the thought had not quieted yet, then it needed to be dealt with. The idea of facing another day with this underlying sense of something left unfinished was abhorrent.

With precise, irritated movements Loki set the puzzle box aside and rucked back his hair with one palm. He tipped his head up to look at the night sky.

Something was _there_ at the edges of his self-awareness, something nebulous but bright. When he tried to grasp it, the substance slipped away. It was in regards to Stark. That much was impossible for him to miss. Increment by increment, he replayed the events of the previous night over in his memory in an attempt to bypass whatever obstructed his understanding. On every occasion that he reached the moment when Stark watched him disperse Victor’s magic, he lost the thread of his thoughts.

His eyes mapped out the stars overhead. Midgard’s constellations were no longer new to him, but tracing the familiar paths yielded no answers.

“Perhaps a change of scenery…” Loki gathered up the puzzle box and leapt from the roof, startling Damson from her continued construction on her home. He gave her a nod in passing on his way into the cabin. The wood of the porch creaked beneath his feet, and the door whined when he pushed it open. Once over the threshold, it took several seconds for him to adjust to the sudden light.

The dome was still active, its glow stretching out through the room.

Loki stared at it, feeling a mixture of frustration and curiosity that he had long since become accustomed to where his experiments were concerned. More than anything, he wanted to lock himself inside the cabin and spend a few days doing nothing but dissecting the contraption in front of him. There were other matters, however, that he needed to address first.

He set the puzzle box back in its place on his desk, the tips of his fingers catching briefly on its edges before he drew his hand back.

“Damson,” Loki began in the all speak as he returned outside. “I may be gone for quite a while. I’ve carved three runes into the foundation of this stone.” He tapped it with a foot. “If you trace the edges of them, it will mask your home from sight, as well as you while you are inside.”

The spider clicked at him from a tunnel at eye level. At its highest point, the structure was now even with the roof.

Loki interpreted that as acquiescence. “Hunt well,” he told her before he teleported away. 

It wasn’t until much later that he realized he had given her a farewell; Stark’s insistence on such things had grown roots. He just did not know how deep they went.

\---

He nearly fell into the ocean six times on his way to Denmark, and it wasn’t an accident.

Occasionally in his life, Loki had craved the free-fall his ability to teleport afforded him. The Bifrost had changed the feeling associated with that sensation to one of fear that no amount of self-recrimination or anger could qualify as anything else. Loki had once spent the whole of a night falling repeatedly from a New York City high-rise in an attempt to rid himself of the reaction. Afterwards, he hadn’t slept for two days, and it changed nothing.

It did, however, provide him with new information: when he was falling, his mind sped up and his thoughts sharpened. _Fear_ made him think. Inside of him, caught in the ebb of his blood and breath, it became a resource. By the time he reached Denmark’s coast, he’d planned a new modification to the dome, he’d chosen several questions to ask on the next occasion he reached the will-o’-the-wisp, and he’d stumbled upon the most logical explanation for his fixation on Stark.

There was power in patterns.

The repetition of certain words, certain motions, certain actions--- all could serve as a catalyst for magic. It depended on the symbolism that the practitioner perceived and the channels that perception opened. Loki had spent much of his adolescence ensconced in his studies, and so the pages that detailed the power unlocked from the patterns within _people_ remained a mystery to him during those years. Phrases, smoke, entrails, soil, light, palms, and movement held meanings that his books could teach. Relationships, archetypes, and emotion did not. It wasn’t until he began to socialize that he realized a person’s life could hold commonalities that drew shapes to be read like tea leaves.

His interactions with Stark formed an unexpected constellation.

Sea spray caught his back as he landed on the shore, and the wind buffeted his hair and clothes around his body. He bowed his head against it and continued forward on foot.

In days long gone, he had traveled this area with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three. It had been a brief jaunt, a precursor to an unfortunate encounter with a wyvern. The landscape had changed with modernity, but the _impression_ of it, the way the land felt… that remained the same, familiar, an invocation of memory. Loki hated that familiarity. Mentally, he rejected the place as a potential location for a new home, but that was not the reason for his visit.

If falling made his thoughts quicken, then being reminded of his past made them colder; that would be necessary if what he suspected about Stark was confirmed.

He wrapped himself in his surroundings and passed unseen along the edge of a road.

Attraction was not a foreign concept to him. Previously, he’d experienced it as an ill-defined urge to blur the edges of two or more persons, to blunt emotion against emotion, to liken revelations with mutual physicality. That was not what he felt for Stark; he wanted to lay Stark out on a table and pick him apart. He thought the two desires might be related, regardless. It was not a complication that he had foreseen. It unnerved him, a fact which was alarming in its own right. Objectivity in the face of his current circumstances was crucial to his survival, and in his experience, objectivity and attraction often held a tenuous relationship. If the interest was restricted to body alone, it might have been a permissible temptation, but Loki knew all too well the intrigue of Stark’s mind, and that was a different entanglement.

And Stark could be the only person capable of altering the prophecy.

What if this changed that?

The ground crunched beneath his feet as he walked.

Damn it all. He never should have approached Stark that night on the beach. 

He needed to _think_ , but every time that his mind delved closer to the topic, it precipitately switched tracks, unable or unwilling to stare too long into the face of that buried truth. Just as he’d done repetitively since it happened, he contemplated the way magic had illuminated Stark. The expression Stark had worn in that moment… that was where Loki became mired. He could not dislodge the memory. 

Loki growled low in his throat and resisted the impulse to knock a passing car off the road. 

There had been an unashamed, open _need_ in Stark as he observed magic being used, a hunger to understand. That was not a reaction that Loki was accustomed to. Derision, mistrust--- those were far more common emotions to see spill over an observer’s face. Even when he had been ensnared in the lies of his association with Thor and his friends, they had taken years to view Loki’s power as an honorable weapon, in spite of the fact they knew it was wielded by both of their monarchs.

For someone to watch him with a mind ready to analyze for the sake of curiosity alone, to find such clear fascination…

He wanted to see Stark wear that expression again.

“But what does that _mean_ ,” Loki murmured into empty air, and perhaps to the shadow of steps he had taken across this same stretch of land a lifetime ago.

The branches of a tree creaked.

Loki’s pulse doubled between one breath and the next.

Hastily, he absorbed that he was not dreaming and that there was nothing waiting to run him down from the treeline. The small pinpricks of sense memory, of skin split, currents of blood, the snap of bone separating from their homes--- these were details less simple to dismiss. They collected at the base of Loki’s skull until his head bowed further, and concentrating on each footfall became a harrowing endeavor.

The version of himself that had journeyed along this same road had not yet known what it was to be eaten alive.

Loki resented his past self for a great many things, but for now, he resented that most of all.

He wasted several hours traversing that road and came to no resolution save that he needed to arrive at one soon.

\---

After Denmark, he passed through Britain on his way to an undecided location. It was early morning, that intermediary period in which the sky smoothed out the bruising along its edges. Loki had not slept, too wary and too preoccupied to stop moving. He’d worn himself into the ground, trying to decipher his own mind and finding nothing but cyclic uncertainty. Every spare scrap of his encounters with Stark had been relived but yielded no answers beyond the fact he was unwisely drawn to the man. Added to that was the constant, visceral pressure of his lack of sleep and the inevitability of facing the prophecy once more. It only exacerbated his disquiet that the two were tied together.

He had exhausted the conclusions he could come to on his own. He needed new information, new eyes, but he had no one with whom he could discuss it.

( _\---Thor’s expression of concern beneath dim light as they hid from their new instructor, children avoiding responsibility but not one another, confessing weighty secrets in small places---_ )

Loki stood at the same rise where he had first met England, staring down into the shadows strung up between trees, and thought.

\---

His mother had been the one to introduce him to puzzles. She always read to him and Thor in the same room, a welcoming place with an open balcony that let the outside world filter gently in, and one morning in their childhood she had told Loki that somewhere inside of it there was a second door.

He’d found three, because he was thorough, and because he had wholly and honestly loved the way she had smiled at his discovery.

There were no more doors. He’d fallen down a black corridor, and the creatures there had taken him to a place with no doors.

A crow cawed from a fence post. It was probably real.

He’d been taught to see the unseen, to pull enchantments from the air. He hadn’t always seen the violence in lies and assumptions, but he was predisposed to look. Now he could, now he _did_ , and he realized that he did not know how to stop.

\---

The sun was high overhead.

Loki became aware that he had not moved.

\---

England was home; Loki knew this because he’d teleported into his living room and taken a seat in an armchair.

Across the low table in front of the couch, there were a number of papers strewn. England’s hair was mussed, there was a highlighter cap in his teeth and a pen streak on his chin, and Loki suspected that the hunted look about his eyes had little to do with the sudden appearance of a guest.

Primly, England removed the highlighter cap from his mouth, set it on the table, and straightened. “I was wondering how long you were going to stay on the edge of that forest. Were you searching for the wisp again?” It might have been the exhaustion or a byproduct of Loki’s state of mind, but he appeared briefly skeletal: hard shadows curled under his eyes, pale in the light pouring in through the windows.

Loki clenched his jaw, caught in the trench of one wave of memory and the next.

“Loki?” England prodded, careful.

He caught himself, remembered to swim. “There is a matter I would like to discuss with you, if I may.” Each word possessed a cost he’d convinced himself he couldn’t afford not to pay. Of all the people in Loki’s sphere of interaction, England was the only possible avenue. A part of him wished that it had been someone who could be killed; another part was shamefully thankful that it was not.

The nation dragged his eyes over Loki’s face, and whatever he observed there prompted him to get to his feet with a quiet exhalation. “I’m going to make us something to drink.”

He misplaced his awareness for an indeterminate amount of time while England vanished into his kitchen. A clock ticked on the wall, and the sound itched beneath Loki’s skin.

When England returned, it was with two mugs of a steaming liquid. “Here. Tea.”

Loki accepted the offering, adrift. “I…”

“Don’t look so troubled,” England advised with an easy smile he had no business wearing after all that Loki had done. “People may not always agree with my cooking, but I have a sixth sense where knowing a person’s preferred tea is concerned.” The smile became a smirk. “Although, perhaps it’s an eighth or ninth sense. I have a great many senses.”

“I can sympathize,” Loki managed after a small, investigative mouthful that he was not adverse to. It did not occur to him until after he had swallowed that he never entertained the notion that it might be tampered with--- and it wasn’t.

Something softened behind England’s expression, slight enough not to be insulting. “I know that you can.” He reoccupied his seat on the couch with his own cup held in his hands. “Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Loki had come here with a purpose, but it was still a labor to step over that precipice. His mouth was dry, his body constrictive, his focus frayed. “I’ve found myself… with a conflict of interest.” Outwardly, he presented it as though it were a mild irritant. Internally, he flinched from the statement. “My involvement with an ally may be delving deeper than what our arrangement merits.” And it could lead to his death if Stark’s place in his life did not change the prophecy.

England’s look took on an incredulous edge. “Did you come to me with a _relationship problem?_ ”

The question shot down his spine.

“It is not---” Loki bit off the last syllable. He gritted his teeth and did not lash out, did not free England’s fingers from their joints. “You misunderstand me.”

“How so?” England appeared a breath short of a nervous laugh. It was good that the impulse was not realized; it made it easier for Loki to exercise his own restraint over his probable response. “You believe that you’re getting attached to someone: a relationship. Evidently, you’re unsure what to do about it: a problem.”

Loki was silent.

England sighed and leaned forward with his arms resting on his knees. He was quiet for a gathered interval, and then, “I apologize for my levity. This is clearly troubling you.” There was an opportunity for breath and realignment in the moments before and after he drank from his cup. “Is there a particular question that you would like to ask?”

There were many. He settled on the first that occurred to him. “I’ve hurt you. Killed you.” Loki’s voice was dulled. He considered his hands and the blood that wasn’t on them; it was not lost on him that his question was not truly meant for England. “Why are you kind?”

After a moment, England asked, slowly, “You are… honestly curious about that, aren’t you? Academically, you don’t understand.”

Loki thought of speaking but settled for a shallow nod.

“Well.” England set his cup down on the table with a light _clink_. “I first approached you with the intention of striking a deal, as you’ll remember.”

“Information in exchange for my promise to make you aware of any ill-intent I may harbor towards your people,” Loki recalled.

“Yes.” The nation settled back, crossing one leg over the other. “In regards to each instance after that, I’ve found certain qualities within you to be quite familiar.”

Anxiety started to boil behind Loki’s ribcage. It felt as though if he released enough of that energy to speak, he would lose his grip on it entirely.

“I am intimately aware of what it is to have a long history, and what it is for that history to become monstrous,” England continued. He angled his head to look out of the window, and Loki wondered if that was calculated, if he was neglecting to watch Loki in order to afford some sort of privacy. “Even so, that is not the entirety of my answer. That afternoon…” England paused; there was a spasm at the tips of his fingers. “The day that you injured me in the kitchen. It was defensive. One look at your expression, and I knew that it hadn’t been premeditated. For whatever reason, you acted out of fear.”

“Mind what you…” Loki breathed out, the beginning of a warning, but one that went uncompleted.

England took a silent breath but did not change tracks. “I could see the moment when you came back to yourself, and there was shock on your face. You didn’t intend for it to happen. _That_ , that is something else that I’ve experienced. I’ve felt it in myself, I’ve witnessed it in others of my kind, and I’ve seen it in people who have spent portions of their lives helpless and have learned to consistently react as though backed into a corner.” His eyes sank momentarily closed, and a bitter, crooked smirk found its way to his face. “I detest when people are made to feel that way. You have the capacity, Loki, to be extraordinarily cruel. You have the capacity to level worlds. I believe you also have the capacity for the opposite and that the potential may still be realized. All of these factors…” He shook his head minutely as if dislodging something. “I am kind to you because I know what it is to be at the center of bloodshed, to be cornered, to conversely be the one cornering others, and to have choices to make.”

A sneer slipped easily across Loki’s mouth. “Mercy for a wounded beast. That is how you qualify it?”

“No,” England answered calmly. “That is, apparently, how _you_ choose to qualify it so that you may avoid what is actually being said.”

Loki’s entire body tensed, on the cusp of action and reaction. A response caught in his throat; a sheathed knife weighed down his sleeve.

“Allow me to redirect,” England said as his eyes landed briefly on Loki’s right hand, and he appeared to notice the new shape of the fabric just above it. “How does your question relate to this ally you mentioned?”

Loki laid steel beneath his voice. “I am uncertain of their motives.”

“In other words…” Here, England reclaimed his cup from the table. It had the dressings of a casual gesture and the meat of a nervous one. “You’re intrigued by them, but you fear their interest in you is provisional. You are wondering what you can afford and how to proceed.”

After a moment’s deliberation, he gave a sharp nod.

“I’m… not sure what advice I can give you without more information about the person involved, which I gather you do not wish to give,” England admitted. “Except to say that I do not think you would have come to me if you had not hit a wall with the information that you have. If you cannot make a decision based off of what you know now, then it follows that you need to learn more. Stay cautious if you must, but become better acquainted with them and reevaluate.” His grip tightened on his cup’s handle. “I will add that it may benefit you to address the impulsive violence.”

“Yes, well, I can understand why you would want that.” Loki gave a charming smile incongruous with the rest of the conversation, conscious that it was unsettling. At the core of England’s suggestion, however, there was truth. He’d essentially said what Loki had been circumventing. The obvious answer was to learn from more encounters with Stark and to adjust his decisions accordingly. And as for the violence… that was already an instinct he was attempting to curb, at first in light of Stark’s potential to affect the prophecy, and now, perhaps, because he did not want to cut their association short just yet. He did not know what that might entail, but he did know that it was an answer he wanted to uncover.

Even without that deterrent, Loki was beginning to suspect that many of the recent occasions in which he’d attacked someone had less to do with an innate talent towards survival and more to do with an abrupt loss of control. He’d lauded those instances as an example of intuition, but…

He imagined he could hear England’s blood dripping onto the kitchen tile.

He did not regret the violence, but if it was at the expenditure of his self-will, he intended to correct it.

“Was there… any other topic you wished to discuss?” England’s voice cut jaggedly across the memory.

Loki refocused on the present and the man sitting across from him. “No.”

“In that case,” England replaced his cup on the table and took up a pen. He appeared perfectly at ease. “I have work to do, but you are welcome to stay and finish your tea.”

“That will not be necessary.” Loki set his half-full cup down beside England’s and stood. He felt as though he should speak but was unsure why.

“You’re welcome,” England murmured softly, attention firmly on a wall of text. “Safe travel.”

Loki lingered for a second more.

Then he left.

\---

On a whim, he went south instead of west.

He rented a room in Lisbon and laid invisible wards over its pale blue paint. Whoever stayed in the room after him would find themselves with complementary protection.

It took him several more hours to fall asleep, kept awake by the thought that he’d been somehow tracked, that Victor or some government-organized human faction would discover him in that city he had never before seen, that he could not possibly find safety no matter where he ventured, no matter his disguise.

No one came, but sleep had to steal him from the conviction that they would.

\---

The woods were illuminated by moonlight as Loki continued along the path. Soft shushing sounds trailed on the wind, at times with the simple rustle of leaves against leaves, and at others with the undeniable timber of voices. It would still be several minutes before the first corpses burst through the ground and Loki was able to run. Already the limbs of trees were beginning to warp, to dip beneath the weight and pull of rotting hands.

“Loki.”

His steps faltered. Loki lifted his head and stared out into the trees, pulse pounding as shock circulated through him. Before he could react in any other way, the path called him forward again, and he regained his previous momentum. Over the path’s summons, Loki tried to concentrate, tried to place the voice he had just heard. He didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t England’s; he had already listened to the nation’s screams fade. 

Whoever it was, they were further ahead. Loki’s hands opened and closed, grasping for magic that wasn’t there.

The trees on either side of him moved to bend over the path, locking together to form a canopy. He could peripherally see the silhouette of hands twined against the night sky. When the corpses broke free from the soil, those branches would stretch towards him and… With what the denizens of his dreams had proved capable of, he did not want to consider the reason for a stranger’s appearance. He attempted to convince himself it had been imagined, but he knew the truth. 

Someone or something had said his name.

Someone was there.

It still was not time for him to run, and so the path pulled him inexorably onwards. The light of the will-o’-the-wisp was beginning to become visible through the shadows, a beacon. He did his best to concentrate on that glow. Whatever this new component of the dream intended, it could not accomplish its task if Loki could reach the wisp.

“ _Loki._ ” The tone came again, clear, calm, a bell-stroke.

Every heartbeat hammered inside his chest as Loki rounded a bend in the road, and the shadows parted to relinquish a figure that resolved into a man who stood in the center of the path. Fog curled around his feet as blood began to bubble up through the loose dirt.

His face was familiar.

The last time he’d seen that face, it had been slick with red.

_You lack conviction._

Impossibly, Loki found that he could stop, and he did so, numbness seeping down his limbs. “I killed you,” he breathed out, stricken by disbelief, unable to reconcile what he was seeing.

Coulson buried his hands in his pockets and gave a crooked smile. “Actually, I’m comatose in a bed in North Dakota, but that’s close enough where certain otherworldly entities are concerned.” His words barely sank in as white noise flared in Loki’s ears. He took slow, measured steps towards Loki. “Let’s just say that every institution needs someone to do the paperwork.”

Panic rocketed in tight circles in his chest. The corpses would be rising soon. They’d be rising, and Loki was standing here, speaking with a man he’d killed, a man smiling at him as though he were utterly inconsequential; he would die, he would die standing in this path, he would---

“What is your purpose here?” Loki demanded; desperation crept into his voice, and he hated its presence there. He had no weapon, and he had no power. He was defenseless.

Coulson drew to a stop an arm’s length away and watched him with pleasant blandness that he seemed to wear like his suit. Loki could recognize the danger of him then. Beneath that innocuousness was something that had been honed to lethality. “You asked for help.”

A snarl warped his face, feral, reactive. “I’ve never---”

“---not in here, no. Out there? You have.” Coulson half-shrugged, blasé. His demeanor was at complete odds with Loki’s own. It did not match the surroundings, it did not fit the horror of what Loki knew was coming, and that drove him into fear. When he’d stabbed Coulson, he had not viewed the man as a threat, but here, now, in front of him, it was all that he could think. “I’ve been here the whole time as my current employer’s representative, unable to communicate.” At Loki’s expression of denial and fury, he continued before there could be an interruption. “You must believe in self-fulfilling prophecies. How could you not?” He gestured to their surroundings with an upturned hand. “When you became sincere about seeking and giving help, it was reflected in this environment. You can see me.”

“ _What_ …”

A pale, rotting hand broke the ground in between them.

Coulson glanced down at it. “Well, that’s disturbing.”

The path’s hold on him snapped, shattered.

Loki made eye contact with the human.

“I’ve watched you be eaten alive enough times to be tired of it,” Coulson said. It sounded true. “Run.”

Loki did.

\---  
\----  
\---

When Tony had gotten home the evening before, he and Bruce had spent a few sleep-deprived hours talking. They started with a few short statements and built upwards. Bruce had reclined cross-legged against a floor-to-ceiling window and spoke with quiet solidity. Tony did his best to stay on the same page and bury the burgeoning feeling of panic he got whenever he thought he’d let down someone he cared about. They both had some ingrained insecurities that made similar discussions difficult, like there were a dozen different conversations happening at the same time, and most of them were internal. Tony would call himself an asshole, and Bruce would disagree in calm, elegant expositions that could be put on plaques; Bruce would call himself a coward, and Tony would get so worked up dissecting the plethora of ways that was _so fucking wrong_ that his voice went a little hoarse.

Sometime between when they took a break for cake (that Steve had baked in an apologetic fit after breaking some gym equipment earlier in the day, and the mortification paired perfectly with the chocolate, goddamn) and when Tony drove into his brain that it wasn’t his place to decide what information concerning his friends was safe for them to know about themselves, Natasha walked into the room.

Their sentences trailed to nothing, not because they had a problem with her overhearing, but because they thought they’d gotten the hang of registering her stealthy spy steps and were proven wrong yet again.

“You could eat cake too,” Tony had offered and then winced. Tony Stark: king of non sequiturs. He should update his business card.

Natasha had looked between them, saying nothing.

“Yes,” Bruce reiterated carefully. “You could eat cake too.”

And that was how Natasha became included in their sitting-on-the-floor, talking-about-feelings, eating-cake party. She didn’t say much, but whenever Tony glanced over, her mouth was curved in a small but unmistakable smile.

\---

Corbin Wright had been a forty-three year old bank teller who was crushed in his car by the Hulk while his son’s Rachmoninov CD played over the speakers. After his death, his son and niece packed up his apartment. Taped inside the cover sleeve of a murder mystery that fell from its shelf, they found a blood-stained scrap of a shirt: the shirt that Corbin’s wife was wearing the night she disappeared. That book was eleventh in a series, and its predecessors had their own mementos.

In the chaos following the Hulk’s appearance, many people overlooked the side-story of an already dead serial killer and his decade-old murders.

Natasha put the pieces together. She found the killer with the son who became a classical pianist. She found the cemetery he was buried in. She and four other SHIELD agents put him to rest.

Tony explained all of this in animated tones to Lapis and Beauregard as he fine-tuned a batch of new arrowheads for Clint in the lab. Bo just continued to turn circles in a decidedly showoff-ish manner, but Lapis looked acutely interested. “Hey…” Tony thought out loud, twirling a finished arrow between his fingers. “Why don’t you go tell Loki? I mean, he did leave kinda quick. It’d probably be nice for him to know how it all ended, right?”

Lapis tilted its head, gave an arpeggio, and then let ghostly light spill out of its beak.

Spelled out in the air in front of him was a jumbled wall of text, and Tony realized Lapis was showing him what had to be at _least_ the last ten minutes of his ramblings. It might have been his imagination, but the coffee sitting next to him on the bench looked guilty.

“Whoa. So I really do talk that much.” Tony put the arrow back with its brethren and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “I’m guessing you want me to shorten it a bit…”

If it was possible for a bird made out of jewels to fluff up in annoyance, then that was precisely what Lapis did.

“Okay. Here goes.” Tony scanned the text thoughtfully. “Cut out the stuff about Clint’s arrows, obviously…”

Paragraphs died out.

“And the part where I wax poetic about Steve’s cake. That’s embarrassing.”

Several more sections dissolved.

“From what’s left… how about starting with the line _it was a serial killer_ and ending with the part where Natasha and company finished up at the cemetery?”

The light folded in on itself and then presented a message of four short paragraphs.

“Awesome!” Tony beamed. “Looks good. Thanks, Lapis.”

After flying in a small circle around Tony’s head, Lapis swallowed the words hanging in the air, headed for the lab’s outer wall, and vanished through it.

Tony watched the bird go and said, “That’s never going to stop being cool.”

He just hoped that Loki would reply.


	12. A shocking amount of interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Thank you so much for sticking with me through another long wait. I have taken my NCLEX (and passed! :D), and now there is nothing huge hanging over my head to keep me from writing. I'm hoping to get back to an every-other-week or sooner posting schedule.
> 
> I also recently made a tumblr! You can find me under this same username :3 I'm going to start posting my drabbles there instead of on my lj. Requests are always open, and if you ever want to talk, I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> And, if you would like to see something that made me do cartwheels of happiness, check out this [awesome art of Beau](http://fel-as-in-tumbld.tumblr.com/post/76119831473/beauregard) by the fantastic, talented Fel-as-in-tumbld!

Sweat had soaked his clothes and the sheets when Loki gasped a breath into his lungs, awake. It was still night in Lisbon. The noise of an unfamiliar city beat against his pulse, sharp against the cut-off sounds from the forest. At first, all he could do was acclimate himself to where he was. Then his breathing evened out, and the thing that slipped over his tongue wasn’t a product of fear: it was a laugh, it was triumph.

He had faced the dream, and he had _survived_.

He was still laughing as he laid back down, fingers tangled at his sides, and when he finally fell quiet, it was with a crooked smile. Coulson’s presence had altered the results considerably. That curiosity bore investigating.

Closing his eyes, he endeavored to fall back into sleep. That first taste of success was not enough. Fear be damned, this was battle, and whatever the circumstances, he had rediscovered high ground.

He managed to return to the dream twice.

\---

He appeared on the path with Coulson standing beside him, the dim chill of early evening stretching around them. They continued forward together, mud and blood caking their heels as they spoke. From the first sentence, it was clear that Coulson was merely fulfilling the parameters of the assignment given to him ---and this unnamed employer was a matter Loki would need to examine--- but that didn’t deter the man from calm, personable words ( _“That was quick. You look less, uh. Well, you look better than last time”_ ). Loki had always found himself to be a visual person in relation to memory, and as such, he was perpetually reminded of his near-fatal wounding of Agent Coulson. He imagined Coulson experienced the same displacement. It left understandable snags in the conversation.

“Who has recruited you for this purpose?” Loki asked once, and as it happened, only once.

Coulson took several long moments to answer, and in those moments, a strange coldness overcame his expression. When he angled his head towards Loki to reply, there was a presence behind his eyes that gave the impression of something old pressing close inside his skull. “Someone you will only meet if this prophecy ends the way you’re scared it will.”

Loki gave ground beneath that response; experience had taught him not to take such assertions lightly, particularly in environments comparable to his present one.

Coulson’s verve returned directly after. “But let’s talk about the things trying to eat you.”

“You have an admirable flair for pleasant diversions,” Loki commented with a snide smirk.

“What can I say: sometimes I give what I get.” His shoulders arched in a shrug. “I’m here for business, not sensitivity. Like I said earlier, I’ve been here the whole time and as far as I’ve seen, you’ve been almost exclusively paying attention to the light.” He nodded towards the wisp, off to their right. “For understandable reasons, granted, but…”

“This is not the first prophetic dream that I’ve had.” Loki forced his thoughts away from Heimdall and that far away future with the finality of practice. “I am well aware that every aspect is representative of something larger. I have prioritized.”

“Rethink that.”

The path pulled him inexorably forward, and Loki was silent.

“I can’t give you all the answers, but I am authorized to direct you.” Coulson was walking slightly ahead, and he glanced back to him. His smile retained its perfectly measured slant; the rest of him was cold steel. “Aren’t you interested in why so many want you dead?”

Loki met the frigidity with the ease of his nature. “I can think of a multitude of reasons. I would be more intrigued by the specifics of _who_ these shades represent…” It was not so difficult to guess; so much of his power was built in symbolism. “But I assume that is why they are faceless.” 

“Okay.” A hand extricated itself from its suit pocket to twist in the air. “Expand on that.”

“I have greater concerns at the moment. The path will release me soon, and I must be prepared to reach the wisp.”

“That’s not your greatest concern. Trust me on this one. The wisp isn’t going to do you any good until you---”

“---I don’t make a habit of trusting humans, with special attention to humans I have left to die,” Loki said with false lightness, voice perched on a sneer. “Do not mistake your place in---”

“---my _place?_ ” Coulson came to a stop, shifted to face him. “We have some important points to clear up, you condescending _joke_ of a god.” The slowed momentum sent of wave of sick anxiety through Loki as the path grappled for his attention. “I have been put here to help you. You can bet I’m not happy about that, but there’s more to it: you need this.” The human squared off in front of him, and though anger was the obvious source of his words and actions, it was not visibly tangible. “You have merrily dug yourself such a deep metaphorical grave, I’m not even sure you still remember that’s where all the metaphorical dirt is coming from. And guess what? It’s becoming steadily less metaphorical.”

Loki’s sneer widened, became in part a snarl, but he did not have the opportunity to answer.

Between them, a hand broke through the bloodied mud.

Coulson prolonged his eye contact with Loki before he reached down, gripped its wrist, and helped it to break free.

Instinctual fear ricocheted inside of him, and he reached for a knife that he would not find. The creature pushed its torso into open air, struggling to turn towards Loki. Thin skin stretched smoothly over eyeless sockets, and its teeth were bared, flesh shorn from the jaw. It dug its nails into the dirt in an attempt to drag the rest of its body to the surface, howling as its focus settled solidly on Loki.

Unperturbed, Coulson reached down and gripped the back of its neck, pulling it upright. Whatever strength he was using was not solely his own. “Look close, Loki.”

Its hands clawed outwards, fighting to break Coulson’s hold and reach Loki, but it did not attack the man restraining it. The aggression it displayed was single-minded, relentless.

His pulse stammered as he catalogued its movements. Around them, a multitude of howls rose up in reply to the first.

“I mean it. Focus.” The tone beneath the words was challenging. “What do you see?”

A frustrated growl broke from his throat, and he fought to regain mastery over his instinctive response. He attempted to use facts to ground himself: Coulson had been placed in the dream as an ally. Personal disdain for Loki aside, he had proven sincere in his intentions to provide assistance thus far. If he was so determined to bring these details to Loki’s attention, then perhaps they were of importance. 

Steadying himself, he studied the creature in front of him.

There was a knife wound between two ribs, pale, bloodless.

Loki’s breath caught--- recognition, epiphany, understanding. “These… are my dead.”

“Your past is going to catch up with you, Loki.” Coulson maintained his grasp with seemingly little effort. _You’re not ready for it yet,_ went unspoken.

\---

He awoke to the brief impression of morning light before he closed his eyes and tried again.

\--

Blood pooled against his hand in a sluggish seep as Loki cupped it below his ribs. His breath came out in sharp bursts, but he managed a sleek smile regardless. “Hello, England.”

With the wisp’s light flickering over bone, England nodded his head towards them as they made their way into the clearing. 

He was in the third dream of the night. It was the first occasion that he and Coulson had managed to successfully make it through the forest--- and yet Loki hadn’t died. When the creatures drew too close and it was impossible to escape, Coulson had simply put a hand on Loki’s shoulder, and he awoke in the room in Lisbon. The knowledge that he would not be eaten alive aided him in maintaining cohesion in his thoughts. There was still a certain amount of fear, fear that had become habitual, fear that he despised, fear that made him forget what he was capable of. One night’s peace did not erase every night previous.

But it was a beginning.

It ached when he swallowed, throat dry. He glanced briefly to where Coulson was standing, surveying the movement in the dark, before returning his attention to the skeleton. Quietly, still struggling for air, he asked “Are these creatures representative of my dead?”

In answer, he was given a nod and a gesture Loki took as encouragement to elaborate.

He cast his mind around and settled on the obvious extension of that line. “Are they also representative of my past actions?”

A nod.

Loki tensed, and electric shocks of panic burned pathways from his chest to his fingertips. “Is that the aim of this prophecy? To warn me that a decision made in my past will lead to my death?” Even before he had left Asgard, there were a myriad of choices that he could foresee resulting in that eventual outcome. That was a risk he had taken at the time. There were consequences that he had accepted. The emotion he was feeling wasn’t regret; it was simple awareness of all that he had done, but here in these woods he sometimes felt that the toll it took inside of him was indistinguishable from the other. Perhaps the road he had taken was---

The _road_ he had taken.

Loki’s eyes went wide, and he turned to look over his shoulder, at the trees, to where the path lay. Stricken, he jolted back towards England with another question perched on his tongue before realizing that he hadn’t gauged his last one’s answer.

England tilted his head to one side, indicating neither yes nor no.

He forced a slow breath. When he awoke, he would have occasion to consider what he learned, but time in the dream was limited. “The prophecy has multiple messages?”

A nod.

Reminded of when he had asked England about the prophecy’s deadline, he thought of numbers. “Two?” Loki prompted.

England shook his head, no.

“Three?”

Another nod.

Loki’s chin tipped down with a shaky breath before he lifted it to counteract the gesture’s vulnerability. “Are all three related to my death?”

After a pause England shook his head once more. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and tapped his wrist.

For a moment, his eyes sank closed. He straightened. “Coulson, our time is up.”

Just before the light paled and died, he felt a warm hand clasp his shoulder.

\---

When he opened his eyes in Lisbon, it was a quiet, soft moment--- no quick breaths, no racing pulse. Loki wasn’t precisely calm, but he was not overwhelmed either. There was still a great deal of information to parse through, but the night he had just experienced proved that he had regained some control. That changed the circumstances considerably. Now he knew the death that his dream had predicted was avoidable. Where something had been changed once, it could change again, however. The dream might become fatal once more, but the fact that he had the power to affect it made the ordeal no more perilous than many others he had overcome.

He smirked at the ceiling and then shifted to sit on the edge of the bed.

There was work to be done.

Before he could address that, however, he was interrupted: Lapis trilled at him from a window sill.

Eyebrow arched, Loki turned to look behind him at the bird scratching the yellow paint. “Was that a note of impatience?”

It was then that he realized how bright the sun was outside. Three consecutive dreams must have taken a great deal of time. He’d known that, of course.

With a shake that clinked together slivers of jeweled feathers, Lapis released Stark’s message.

Some part of Loki had anticipated a request for further help, some new way in which Loki’s strength could be used to the advantage of the Avengers. Instead, it was the theatrically phrased conclusion of their encounter with the specter. Stark’s enthusiasm was plain, even without voice or tone. The sentence structure prompted Loki to read it rapidly, as though it were spoken in a rush, which it likely was.

His smirk became a smile. “Thank you, Lapis. I’m going to search out something to eat. I’ll give you a reply when I return.”

Lapis sang an affirmative and then ducked behind one wing.

\---  
\----  
\---

Tony woke up drooling on a work table. “Mneh…? Gruh.” The light of his lab was harsh even though he and JARVIS had hashed out a meter for appropriate light settings years ago. Clearly, the meter was being betrayed. He smoothed a palm over his face and winced some movement into the muscles. The fog from a spoonful of rough sleep continued stubbornly on, and he decided he hated that slightly more than the lights.

A mug slid into his line of sight. “Good morning.” Clint sounded like he couldn’t decide if Tony was adorable or sad. There was a long, healing gash along the side of Clint’s face that crinkled when he smiled. “Coffee makes your words work.”

The mug fit into Tony’s hands like a perfect, warm, elixir-of-life-filled puzzle piece. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing. Tony straightened and took a long, slow sip. “Yes.”

With a huff of a laugh, Clint sank down onto the bench opposite him, leaning forward with his arms folded on the table. “So…”

“So…?”

Clint flicked a hand at the screens that had come to life when Tony woke up. “Magic still making you mad? I see some things on the fish up there. It looks like you’ve started your research back up.”

“Err. Yeah.” Tony did his best to look blasé, but in a dashing way. “Yeah, that’s definitely what that is.”

The expression on Clint’s face was not a convinced one. Amused, maybe. Skeptical, absolutely. Convinced, nah-uh. He made a point of sitting up and actually reading the content.

“Hey!” Tony reached over and flipped one of the screens around.

If possible, Clint’s expression got even more skeptical. “Tony, I can still read the words even if they’re backwards.” He paused. “Is this… are you building the magic ring shark _a tank?_ ”

“No? No.” He took another sip of coffee. “Well, yes. I’m tired of putting him in bowls, okay!” Tony gestured animatedly. “Beauregard deserves more!”

Abruptly, the humor they’d been working towards died. Clint went blank, and Tony could see the gears turning behind his eyes. “You sound really attached. You remember where Beauregard came from, right?”

Tony’s mouth shut with a click. His eyes slipped sideways from Clint to the screen. It was starting to feel like he was never going to stop having this conversation and all its siblings, but it was an important one to have. “Yeah. I remember.”

Clint was quiet, searching, and that was something Tony was thankful for… because even if Tony somehow managed to forget who Loki was, Clint wouldn’t. Clint couldn’t.

“I do know. I promise.” His grip around the mug tightened, sent little waves through the coffee. “You’ve heard me talk about all of this, every time I update the team on what’s happening. If you hear me say something that makes you question if I’m being realistic or cautious, then please, Clint. Tell me.” He looked up. “But that’s not what this is. There’s nothing dangerous about Beau, and he’s here now. Just like Lapis, whenever the Birdie Wonder gets back. I’m not going to forget who Loki is or what he’s done, but that means not ignoring these guys either. Or the fact he helped us with that ghost.” He grimaced. “And please don’t call me out on that phrasing, I didn’t mean for it to sound like a Scooby Doo villain helped us defeat another Scooby Doo villain. Look, you get what I’m saying, right? Maybe not, this is my first cup of coffee. I have no idea how much sense I’m making. Here, let me try again: I remember what he’s done, good and bad, and I’m not going to let myself get conned into forgetting.”

There was an awkward silence.

Tony did not do well with awkward silences. He had a tendency to fill awkward silences with awkward noise that led to another awkward silence. He looked down at his coffee, and his brain latched onto the Folgers jingle. Maybe Folgers _was_ in his cup. He didn’t actually know what kind of coffee they used. He should sing the jingle. No, he shouldn’t, that was ridiculous. But _maybe_.

Just when he was about to lose that battle, Clint spoke first. “Do me a favor.”

“Yes,” he responded quickly. “Sure. Definitely.”

Clint sighed with a wry smile. “Figure out how you feel about him, personally, before this goes much further. Not in relation to the team, or SHIELD, or whatever. Just you. If you don’t do it now, it’ll come back to bite you in the ass later. Trust me.”

Tony frowned. “Yeah, okay, that sounds like fun.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Cool, because I wasn’t.”

“Listen, man. I know you don’t do well on the whole Feelings subject. Let’s face it, neither do I.” They made eye contact again, and Clint wasn’t joking around. “But I’d like to think we’ve made a hell of a lot of progress on that front since…” He made a face and trailed off but picked it back up. “I mean, look at us right now.”

“Having this conversation like a couple of pros.” Tony smiled.

“Just… think about it.”

Then it clicked for him: if anyone understood conflicting loyalties and caring about someone you didn’t know if you could trust yet, it was Clint.

Tony chewed on his lip, nodded, took another sip of coffee.

“Good,” Clint said, sounding satisfied. Then he fidgeted. “But, uh… If you don’t mind a subject change, I didn’t come bring you coffee for entirely selfless reasons.”

He swallowed, pulled a brighter smile out of his sleeve. This is what he and Clint did: redirect with talks about training rooms and equipment designed with Tony’s flare and used with Clint’s precision… and if some of it happened to be vaguely arcade-inspired, well that was pure coincidence that in no way reflected on their collective professionalism. “In that case, tell me your heart’s desires.”

Clint followed his cue, and his expression lightened. “The heart wants what the heart wants, and this heart wants to request something new for target practice.”

“I think I can come up with something.” Tony grabbed for one of the tablets lying around him. Screens of blue came to life. “You want one infuriatingly difficult target, or a lot of slightly less infuriating targets?”

“Bird.”

“Sure, they can be birds, I guess.”

“No, I mean, _bird_.”

Tony looked up, blinking. “Huh?”

Lapis landed on the table top with a clatter. It let out a few notes at Tony, hopped to the side, looked at Clint, and cocked its head.

“Hey, birdie. What’s up?”

Another glance between Tony and Clint. Lapis hopped again, picked up one of Tony’s shiny styluses, nibbled on it, dropped it. The green glow in its chest indicated that Loki had sent a reply. Normally, Lapis got right to the point, though. Now there was definite hesitation.

“I don’t think Lapis wants to give me the message with you around…” Tony said slowly, speculatively. Maybe whatever spell Loki had used to make Lapis had a privacy setting? Although, Bruce had said he’d seen the message Lapis had brought JARVIS. Maybe it was specific to Loki?

Clint seemed taken aback but covered it quickly. “Right. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Tony’s brain rewound, focused on the guy in front of him. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just thinking out loud---”

“---nah, it’s fine.” Clint gripped his chair’s armrests, pushed himself up to his feet. “I’ll get back to you about the target practice. Have fun with your magic texting.”

“It’s more like magic carrier pigeon, but I get what you’re saying.” He gave a tentative smile. “Want to come back by around lunch…?”

Clint returned the expression, lopsided, and nodded before he left.

Watching him leave, Tony sighed before he turned his attention to Lapis. “It’s good to have you back, Lapis. Could you do me a favor and, I don’t know, peck me in the head when you see me put my foot in my mouth?”

Lapis chirped. It sounded like confirmation. Good bird. Nice bird.

Without any further delay, words spouted from Lapis’ mouth into the air over the screens: _Thank you for conveying the ending to this tale. And while I am sending this message, another matter has come to mind. This morning I visited a restaurant, and on a screen over the bar, they played assorted recordings of your battles. Out of curiosity, do you aim for walls or fly into them purely by accident?_

At first, all Tony could do was stare. Then he laughed. “Okay. Okay. I see how this is going to be. Lapis, send back this: Wow, right for the pride, huh? I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic flier.”

\---

The next reply came after he had already had lunch with Steve and Clint and had designed plans for a dozen flying targets half the size of a palm, some with the same concealment tech as the Helicarrier, and others with shields that could only be disabled by shooting a paired target.

Tony was in the process of coming up with another of his brilliant naming schemes when Lapis flew in.

This time, the message was, _And you crash with a particular grace._

“Goddammit. Wait, Lapis don’t record that. Say… Your helmet.”

\---

_Your color scheme,_ was the reply.

Tony pointed a finger. “Your face!”

Lapis wrapped it up and flew back through the wall.

“No, come back,” he flailed. “That isn’t--- fuck.”

\---

_Have I caught you at a bad time?_ , Loki’s response began several hours later, _I remember you being wittier than this._

“I’m choosing to see the compliment in there. And, no, not a bad time.” Tony kept his hands perfectly still, the tools in his hands precise, surgical. “It’s a productive time, full of heroic responsibility and innovation.”

\---

_What are you building?_

He couldn’t help smiling, putting down his book and lifting his head off the arm of his couch. “It’s a secret. What are you scheming?”

\---

_It’s a secret,_ Loki responded next.

That was close ended… Tony tried to think of something that could keep the conversation going but could also be an ending if Loki didn’t feel like talking anymore. “Seems like we’re both in lines of work where that’s a frequent thing.”

\---  
\----  
\---

Facilities belonging to Oscorp possessed high levels of security to oppose Midgardian forces. They did not provide the same challenge for Loki. He had occasionally seen technologies based on alien technology built into the walls and doors, but magic was still not uniformly protected against; its countermeasures were often costly for non-practitioners. Adding to these failings, the facility in North Dakota was believed to be a closely-guarded secret. Loki acknowledged that he would have never become aware of it if not for Coulson specifying the state and the need for medical supplies that his presence suggested, but that anonymity meant that it was spared the same defense that many of the more publically-known sites were given. That was going to cause trouble for dear Norman in the long run, a result Loki was rather fond of.

Altogether, the underground maze of bland walls and blander purpose was hardly difficult to infiltrate.

He watched the nurse he had shadowed, unseen, change a lurid yellow IV bag next to Coulson’s bed. The SHIELD agent’s face was slack, body unmoving, but the vital signs portrayed on the screen above him were stable.

Briefly, Loki entertained the notion of freeing him. He had no doubt that he would be able to remove him from the premises. The issue was that he had little knowledge of what medical damage would be done by doing so (and little knowledge of whether or not it would affect his presence in the dream).

He could, however, collect enough information for Coulson’s allies to rescue him themselves.

The next time he dreamed, he would ask Coulson for his preference… as well as how to convince those allies of his sincerity. He suspected that would prove to be the most complicated aspect.

There was a chair at the bedside. Loki took a seat. He hadn’t stopped moving since he’d awoken, or, if one counted the dreams, for much, much longer.

He had learned a great deal in a relatively short manner of time. In a way, there was comfort in that. Learning that the prophecy was warning him about a decision already made, reduced a portion of his anxiety. It meant that the decision itself was not one he could affect. It was a matter of following a thread to see where it would end, and that was an area in which he excelled. He understood consequences. Often, he acted regardless, but he still had a propensity for predicting outcomes.

He could not be certain until he had the opportunity to question England’s skeleton, but he suspected that whereas the corpses in his dream represented his dead, the path represented a belief or goal. The inexorable pull it exerted could suggest single-mindedness, pride, obsession… any number of emotions that Loki was well-aware he experienced with frequency. That was something for him to dwell on in calmer moments. There were more immediate matters to address.

Loki stood, and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached over and placed a hand on Coulson’s shoulder. Under his breath, he murmured a protective incantation that he had learned from his mother. It was not concrete, and therefore could not be traced. It functioned through intent, and its influence would be enough to temporarily bend the potential for harm around the person it was cast upon. In times of war, his mother had spoken it as a blessing over Asgardian soldiers. Loki discarded the memory with the same ease that he let go, stepped back, and turned away.

There was a nurses station at the end of the hallway. He waited patiently against the wall for one of them to make copies of Coulson’s physician’s orders, stole them while she was distracted in conversation with her colleagues, and smiled when she gave the copier an accusatory kick.

He slid the papers into his coat and took his leave.

\---

While he was in the United States, Loki diverted to the Denver cabin. He’d intended to only spend a few moments there, to check on Damson and the dome experiment and to retrieve the puzzle box.

He did not leave to continue his search for a new safe house as soon as he had planned. The puzzle box was cold in his hands, and with the night sky overhead, it suddenly became very familiar. A short time ago, this was where he had begun to realize what Stark might mean. Now, he was putting pieces together with greater speed and less desperation. Where before it had been too dangerous to allow that encroachment on his thoughts, the river had widened, the current had calmed, his head was above water.

Since Asgard, there’d rarely been occasion to speak to someone with the straightforwardness he and Stark had exhibited throughout the day. He’d nearly forgotten what it was to simply talk with someone, without suspicion and veiled threats, to speak for the mere sake of speaking. There was always motive behind Loki’s words; it was how he lived. But his motive with Stark in this instance was less to do with advantage and more to do with enjoyment. Stark was an aberration from his new norm. He found himself slipping into who he had been on quests, laughing above a battle with Fandral and Sif, over mead with Volstagg and Hogun, over a fire with---

It was unsettling how easy it was. And yet the transition felt natural, as if some part of him that he thought had been cut away was still alive at its roots.

He felt the urge to tell Stark more, and that set him on edge.

In spite of that, his back was against the wall, and it was reassuring to have a connection that did not want him dead. Stark was a scientist who was not cut from the same cloth as Victor. When did he last have the chance to discuss his discoveries with someone who would not put them to use against him? When had he last met someone who could keep pace? On Asgard, some part of him had always been reserved. That truth in its entirety had been revealed in a vault and in the eyes of people he had mistaken for family. It brought to his attention the fact that while he had developed relationships in those halls, the reality was that he hadn’t always made those choices for himself. A whisper in his mind was ceaseless in its insistence that Sif and the Warriors Three would not have cared for him if not for Thor. Stark was another of Thor’s comrades, but this was not the same. Stark’s mind was akin to his own, something that Loki was not used to finding.

An alliance. It was only an alliance. Treating it as though it were more would be the action of a fool. And Stark would not believe him to be in earnest, regardless. It was futile.

( _“Oh, Loki…” Frigga’s hands cupped his face, eyes glinting with moisture reflected in his own as she knelt beside him in the alcove. “I have felt these fears. They do not diminish your worth, or the love felt for you.” He’d been a child, looking at her, magic beginning to come to life inside of him, desperate to hope._ )

Loki gritted his teeth, grip tightening on the puzzle box.

Lapis found him there, standing on the steps while Damson skittered across the snow to bring him a stack of bones.

_Seems like we’re both in lines of work where that’s a frequent thing,_ Stark said.

“Yes…” he murmured. “It does.” He looked up with a shaking breath. “There is something we should discuss. Will you be available tomorrow evening?”

\---  
\----  
\---

His room was dark, his head was aching, and he was too lazy to change into pajamas. Dragging his feet, Tony face-planted onto his mattress and abruptly decided that nope, that was it, he was done with moving. Then he ran out of air and flipped over. 

Lapis flew into his room a moment later, doing a loop below his ceiling. Color spun through the shadows as the light of a message made the bird shine from the inside.

Propping himself up on an elbow, Tony watched the acrobatics before Lapis decided it was time to land on the nightstand. “Hey, birdie,” he greeted. “How’s it going?”

Lapis sang at him and then released the words from Loki: _Yes, it does. There is something we should discuss. Will you be available tomorrow evening?_

Tony blinked. “Uh.” That feeling in his chest was definitely exhilaration. His pulse had just jumped from resting to speeding in the space of those last six words. It was like driving a fast car around a curve, doing a dive in the armor, crossing the river with a straight flush. “Gimme a sec, Lapis.”

He pushed his palms into his temples, thinking. Okay, tomorrow. Tomorrow he was supposed to make an appearance at a business party. He couldn’t miss it. Pepper would kill him, and that would be awkward for pretty much everybody. The party was on a boat, though. Maybe they could meet on the pier afterwards? Or, hey, Tony’s boat. Or both. He was confident in his ability to make a satisfactory appearance and then duck out early. It wasn’t like he’d be shocking anybody.

“Alright, Lapis.” Tony gave the address for the pier, and then made a guess that he could leave the party at around 10:00 pm. “And this isn’t part of the message, but… thanks for doing the herald thing all day. You’re a great… whatever kind of bird you are.”

“ _Lapis is a specimen of the hybridization of a Steller’s Jay and Blue Jay currently being reported in Colorado,_ ” JARVIS answered.

“Cool.” Curious, careful, Tony reached out to pet Lapis. Lapis chirped and pushed up into his hand. The jewels were smooth with fine, detailed edges and gave off warmth. Tony smiled. “You’re a really awesome Steller’s Blue Jay.” Lapis nipped at his finger. “Colorado’s home, huh?” He wondered if that meant Loki had a base there.

Apparently, Lapis took that as a signal to leave, because it was bye bye birdie through the wall immediately after.

The room returned to its previous darkness, lifted only by the arc reactor.

Tony made sad eyes. “Aw. Bye bye---”

“ _You asked me to tell you when things are_ too easy _, sir._ ”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Tony fell backwards onto his pillow, fiddling with Beau’s ring. He really was exhausted, but… Once his brain started going it was hard to get it to slow down, and he was fixating on Colorado. His immediate impulse was to ask JARVIS to keep an eye out for any possible magic activity in the areas where birds like Lapis had been reported. But he and Loki were supposed to be allies now, and that didn’t seem like the sort of thing allies would do. “Maybe I should just ask him,” he whispered.

Was that a thing they did now? Just ask each other stuff like that?

It occurred to him that it might be, or, if it wasn’t already, then it was heading there. They’d had those talks on the beach and in the Maserati, and when Tony had needed help, Loki had showed up. Clint advised him to figure out how he felt about Loki. Considering what kind of dynamic they were cultivating had to be a part of that.

“I’m friendly with Loki,” Tony said, trying it out. “Loki and I are friendly.” That didn’t feel weird to say and seemed like a good place to start. He shut his eyes, folded his hands on his stomach, and decided to keep going. “Loki sends me messages via a magic bird, and I get excited about it. Part of that is because, you know, magic bird, but part of it is also because I’m interested in hearing what he has to say. Always interested actually. He is an interesting guy. I find Loki interesting. I am interested in---”

Tony trailed off, eyes shooting open.

For a few beats he just stared up above him in the dark.

Then, he pushed out on a breath, “Oh, fuck.”


	13. That Spoonful

At first he tried to deny the epiphany, which had never really worked in his experience, but he couldn’t help it. There weren’t many things that caught Tony completely unaware, and he’d never been one to miss attraction. Usually he understood what was happening by the first hint of it. It floored him that he could have possibly overlooked having a thing for Loki. He’d known the guy was compelling from day one, but that was a peripheral acknowledgment. Loki’s actions had always outweighed it, had occupied too much thought-space for anything else to sink in.

When had that changed?

What was _happening?_

Tony got out of bed in a rush. He needed to move. He needed to walk. He needed to not be lying in bed in the dark while suddenly remembering how good Loki looked in a suit.

“JARVIS, buddy, play me through,” Tony managed as he plodded out into the hall towards the elevator.

Music followed him along obligingly, and Tony injected his anxious energy into the words, thankful that that the team was used to him making noise at all hours and probably wouldn’t think anything was up. By the time he reached the lab, he was feeling a little light-headed, like the buzz of reality had caught up to him. He went straight for the table that the targets for Clint were strewn over. His hands wrapped around the tools automatically, second-nature, and took a deep breath.

“Okay, self,” he directed beneath a lively guitar solo. “Do some reflection.”

For far from the first time, he thought about Loki; what was new was the context. When he’d met Loki initially, he’d read violence in him as well as desperation, and whatever fear Tony had felt had been tempered by the sense that there was something unspoken beneath the surface. Since that day they had fallen into the ocean together, he’d gotten glimpses of who Loki was beneath the questionable intent. It was strange, because there was so much of Loki that Tony thought he could recognize, could _relate_ to, but… there was a disconnect. Nothing that Tony discovered when it came to Loki, no matter what they learned about one another--- none of it could undo Loki’s crimes.

So there it was, really, because this didn’t end at physicality. It would have occurred to Tony much sooner otherwise. The fraction of Loki’s mind that Tony had been able to see, _that_ was what had pulled him in, that was what had blown him away.

Could Tony be involved, casual or not, with someone who saw the world the way Loki did?

He didn’t know.

Fuck, he really didn’t know, did he? Christ, what did that say about him?

Tony set one of the targets back down, numbly, and gripped the edge of the table, staring at nothing. He could hear his pulse in his ears, feel it in his throat.

He remembered anger, after New York. He remembered grief and the need to act, could remember that implacable drive to defend, to live up to his new namesake and avenge. Blood had pumped through his veins and burned there. Rage, and promise, and love, those were the things that made him unstoppable, that gave his inquisitive brilliance direction.

What would happen if all of that stopped being directed _at_ Loki, and started including him in the people it was _for?_

“JARVIS,” he croaked out in a harsh whisper. “Call Pepper? And don’t let anybody in, okay?”

He sat down on the work bench as the phone rang.

Pepper picked up halfway through the second ring. “I know you know what time it is, Tony.” Familiarity was the only reason Tony could tell that she had been sleeping.

“Hey, Pepper…” he began, only to realize that he had no idea how to start, mouth taking on a self-deprecating smile she couldn’t see.

She must have heard it in his voice, because she asked, “Do you want to talk about it now or start with something easier?”

There was an ache behind his eyes as he scrunched them shut. “I need to talk about it now, but I don’t know how to.”

“We’ll start slow, all right?” In the background he could hear a sliding door open and close. “Can you give me a subject?”

“Loki,” he answered summarily.

A rush of air could be heard, and he couldn’t tell if it was the wind or a breath. “Is it good? Bad? Both?”

“Bad. No, good. Uh, both?”

“Let’s start there, then.” Her projected calm seeped into the room around him. “What part of it is good?”

“Well.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tried to push some of his nerves down. “I think I’m accomplishing what I set out to, but it’s also getting to be more than that. I think if things had been different, if all the shit that went down hadn’t happened and I’d been introduced to him as Thor’s mischievous brother, we would have been friends. Like, good friends.” That was something he’d been thinking for a while, and it felt good to say it aloud. “But all that shit _did_ go down, and nothing can take that away. And I don’t forget it, Pep. I’m getting to know him without the wool being pulled over my eyes, and I…” He paused, considered. “I think maybe that’s why he’s let me in like he has? Because I didn’t fall for the bullshit, and he’s interested in how my brain does its thing as much as I’m interested in his. I get the impression he thinks of himself as very isolated, but he sees something in me that he can connect with. That’s important. That’s really, really important, and I’m glad that it’s important.”

“And the bad?” Pepper pressed.

“It’s important to me on a level that I wasn’t expecting.”

She didn’t miss a beat, but her tone was open, not demanding. “What kind of level?”

“A…” he mumbled the rest of the sentence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that, can you---”

“Attracted! An attracted level, a level that is attracted.”

There was silence on the other line.

He panicked, right on cue, just like he’d known he would the minute he said it. “Oh, god, Pep, I know this is… I… Please, don’t be mad, I don’t know what I’m… Pepper?”

Slowly, evenly, Pepper cut him off with, “I’m not mad, Tony.” That was definitely a sigh this time. “I’m just thinking of a very memorable conversation we had at a lighthouse---” their seven hour, post-break-up conversation, and for a second, Tony could smell the sea spray, feel the cool mist, hear the sound her earrings had made every time she turned her head, “---where I distinctly recall you promising me that you would never fall for a super villain.”

“It was an accident!” he exclaimed, arms spread wide. “I didn’t know it was happening! And I don’t know if I would say I’ve _fallen for_ him just yet---”

“Tony, would you have called me at this time of night, as panicked as you clearly are, over a potential fling, super villain or not?”

He opened his mouth, idled, and shut it.

The image of what Loki had looked like when he was wrapped in magic, fighting the specter, came to his mind right then, and it was like something broke loose in his chest.

“Oh,” Tony said, concise and also freaking out. “Oh, shit.”

“Are you sitting down? Out of reach of anything that could blow up?”

Tony relocated to sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. “Now I am.”

“Okay. We’re going to talk this through, however long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

( _“There’s so much I want to say, Tony,” Pepper said, as the light spun above them in the early evening._

_“We can take as long as we need,” he’d told her. Below them, waves crashed on the shore. “I’m not going anywhere.”_ )

“Okay,” he answered, and in that moment he didn’t feel quite as lost at sea.

\---

After spending all morning and most of the afternoon on the phone with Pepper, when evening rolled around, it was time to face the music.

The dinner was over sooner than Tony had expected, and he’d dared to hope he’d be able to leave quickly. Right at the zenith of his hope, the first of six speakers stepped behind the podium that had appeared from nowhere. There was no sneaky way for Tony to get out; if he said he had to go to the restroom or get a drink, he’d still have to walk by the glass windows and doors on his way to the exit. His only chance would be to wait until the last speaker was done and get the hell out of dodge before the dancing started.

That was the plan.

The plan failed.

The plan failed real bad.

It was 10:05, five minutes _after_ he’d said he would meet Loki, and the ship was docked, but he was still cornered against a wall while the live band struck up some dancing music. The music was good, and the atmosphere was lively, but it wasn’t something that Tony could enjoy. There was too much going on in his head, and to top it all off, he was late. He’d come to a lot of conclusions during his talk with Pepper, but the only thing that would really cement those conclusions for him would be to see Loki face-to-face. That was going to be difficult when he was trying to extricate himself from a crowd of Stark Industries business associates without insulting anyone. Gone were the days when he didn’t give a damn. He didn’t want to let Pepper down.

“I was thrilled to see your work incorporated into our new building!” Purple Pocket Square told him, beaming.

“Well, it had to be used somewhere,” Tony replied with a coolly polite smile. Purple Pocket Square had said something shitty about Thor pretty early into the evening, which meant relegation to Tony’s shit list.

“And it has been a pleasure doing business with Ms. Potts,” Rosanna Escobar, the executive standing next to him in the yellow dress, said. She had a good sense of humor, and she said a lot of nice things about Pepper; Tony remembered her name. “I was sad to hear that she couldn’t attend tonight.”

That gave his smile authenticity. “Sorry you got stuck with second string. I’ll do my best not to disappoint.”

“Oh, don’t think we haven’t noticed you edging towards the door,” Green Shoes told him from the left with a smirk that was not as charming as it was probably intended to be. “Although, I suppose if you do disappoint us with an early departure, I can tell my colleagues that I was able to witness some classic Stark.”

Tony gritted his teeth around a retort, but someone lightly touched his arm before he could say anything.

When he turned to see who was trying to catch his attention, a lithe brunette with a disarming smile extended a hand. “Might I have this dance?”

He arched an eyebrow and wondered if he was being hit on, rescued, or both. Regardless, it gave him an out, so he took the proffered hand. “I’d love for you to. Nice suit---” the nametag read Oliver N Guest, “---Oliver.”

Purple Pocket Square made a protesting sound, but Tony turned his back and let himself be led forward. No one could fault him for a dance request.

“Thank you,” Oliver returned with a glimmer of something like mischief. Then, in a low murmur after pulling Tony onto the dance floor, “Though, if you insist on using my alias, I have a myriad of others I prefer more.”

That caught Tony off guard for a second, but only a second. Math was his friend, and that was a very clear two and two. “Wait. _Loki?_ ” he hissed, quiet as he could. Panic was not a thing he wanted to incite in this crowd, and finding out they were on a boat with a super villain was the fastest way there.

“You were late,” Loki said primly, and now the smile made sense, even when conveyed through an unfamiliar face; magic was trippy. His palm settled at Tony’s waist with the words, and yeah, okay, Tony definitely gulped. That was horrible and also great. Equally horrible and great was the cut of Loki’s jacket, and, as if the universe was trying to make it worse, they’d kept unfaltering eye contact. Every time their bodies shifted and sent a new angle of light across Loki’s expression, Tony felt it shoot up and down his spine. All this new self-awareness was going to bite Tony in the ass if he didn’t figure out how to make his brain behave soon.

Holy crap, he was dancing at a gala _with Loki_.

Desperate to distract himself with something, Tony zeroed in on the alias. “Oliver N Guest, Oliver N Guest…” Tony said under his breath, searching Loki’s face as the band went in an Etta James direction. He went with it when Loki spun him at the appropriate moment, still thinking. Something about the name stuck out to him. It clicked. “Silvertongue! Are you kidding me?” he demanded as his hand returned to Loki’s shoulder. “You did the Voldemort thing?”

Loki made a _hmm_ sound barely audible beneath the music. They came close to another couple, and Loki stepped nearer to him to avoid making contact with them. “I recognize the character but not the specific reference.”

That got a blink out of him, even as his pulse sped up from the close proximity. Clutching the thread of conversation, he asked, “You know who Voldemort is?”

“I have a television, Stark,” Loki reprimanded with an eyebrow lift.

“Right. Sorry.” Tony ducked his head, smiling. Then he decided the hell with it, did some fancy footwork, and spun Loki out and back in. It got a laugh, and that’s what mattered. “Sometimes I still get surprised when I found out people I usually only seen in an Iron Man context have personal lives.”

As they came back together, Loki leaned in and said lowly, into his ear, “It is an element of my personal life that we need to speak of.”

Those weren’t shivers. Nope, definitely not. But, undeniably, that was his breath leaving him in a slow seep of fascination, dread, and warmth. Tony could see the night sky through the windows behind Loki, and his mind began to function on several different tracks. A part of him was still in the lab, on the phone with Pepper, discussing the man he wanted more of and the people that man had killed; that part of him was being thrown through a pane of glass, was falling forever down with his eyes on unfamiliar stars, was shouting himself awake with a need for vengeance. Then there was a piece of him sitting beside Loki on a beach, talking about the blood on their hands at the end of a conversation that had made Loki feel close enough to touch--- not with skin, but with words.

And there was a final part, the part that was viscerally aware of Loki’s nearness, of the scent of snow and evergreens clinging to his neck and the fabric of his suit, of the note in Loki’s tone that said this was game, and the chord of that note that said it wasn’t.

Loki didn’t pull away after he spoke, and Tony didn’t either.

“Well, now that I’m not being cornered,” Tony said as they moved and turned amongst the crowd in time to the new slow tune, “I should be able to say a few quick goodbyes and leave.”

He could feel Loki’s breath against his neck when he replied, “I’ll meet you on the deck, then, shall I?”

Tony swallowed. What the hell was he getting himself into? “Yeah.”

\---

His pulse was still doing unhelpful jumpy things as he and Loki walked along the pier together. Noise from the party was getting farther and farther away; Tony didn’t miss it. The night air was cool but not uncomfortable, and the stutter of waves was repetitive, grounding. “So, my boat’s here too,” Tony managed when the silence got to be too much. “I thought we could head there, if that works.”

Loki cut him a sideways glance, still wearing a stranger’s face. “A private location would give me leave to remove this glamour. I sense that it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” Tony corrected hastily. “I mean, yes? But not because of what it does or anything. It’s just.” He twirled his hand in the air a few times. “I’ve been working really hard trying to figure out how magic works, and I’ve come up with jack squat.”

Loki’s smile was bright, changed him completely. “Ah, so it makes you _intellectually_ uncomfortable. I apologize.”

“Hey, whoa. Hold it, mister.” Tony made a time-out gesture, but a grin was pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll have you know that I’ve made a ton of progress for a guy who didn’t know magic existed until a little while ago.”

“Oh, certainly,” Loki soothed. “I would have never suggested otherwise.”

He pressed a hand over his heart. “Ouch, that sarcasm stings. I’m hurt. I am hurting right now.”

“If that is all it takes, I shudder to think what further damage I could do,” Loki replied smoothly, a touch of something silken in his tone. It was like Loki was trying to issue a banter-related challenge, but had forgotten how to say things without the edge of a threat. Or it was a trick to lure Tony into a false sense of security.

Either way, Tony’s response was, “I think you’ll find I’m pretty damn durable and ready to dish out what I take.” Bravado aside, the nuance was sufficient to remind him that despite the revelations he might have had, he was still alone with a guy who had tried to kill him more times than he probably knew about. He’d stashed the armor on the boat, and he was wearing his summoning bracelet. Still, that wasn’t going to protect him from magic or a knife in close quarters, and their quarters had been really freaking close. What he needed, what he desperately wanted, was to know how necessary those precautions still were.

And he wanted an answer as to why he didn’t feel as afraid.

“Your demeanor has changed somewhat,” Loki noted, curious.

Tony gave a nervous laugh. “Let’s talk about that when we get on the boat. Still a few more rows down.”

They continued the walk in relative quiet, stray strains of music and the ambient noise of city life filtering down to them. Tony wouldn’t have described the atmosphere as companionable, but some of the stress had definitely gone out of their encounters. There wasn’t a reasonable explanation for it; he knew that. Just because he had caught a clue didn’t mean that anything had changed. They were still the same people that they were before… still the same people who might have a thing for each other and had also slow danced.

His nerves could stop bubbling uselessly any time now.

They boarded Tony’s boat, and he went straight for the cabin. Loki followed him.

“I’d offer you a drink, but I haven’t restocked since---” _Thor was here last_. Tony gritted his teeth, bowed his head a little against it. He’d plastered on another smile by the time he looked up again. “Other than that, make yourself at home.” He took the few steps left to reach the comfy red sofa built into the wall beside the kitchenette. Sinking down with one arm along the back, he flashed a grin he hoped was welcoming instead of overwhelmed.

Loki studied him, evaluating. Whatever he was thinking, it resulted in him taking a seat at the other end of the same couch, shoulder inches from Tony’s lax hand.

“So,” Tony drew out, scrabbling for what to say. “You said there was something from your personal life you needed to talk about?”

A shallow breath parted Loki’s lips as he shifted to face Tony. “Yes. There is. It is a delicate matter, however.”

“Okay.” He opened his posture, rounded his shoulders, tried to project approachability. The move was probably pretty damn obvious, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t done in earnest. “Take your time. No pressure.”

Loki’s eyes traveled over him and gave the impression that he was being analyzed wholesale. It made the hair on the back of Tony’s neck stand up. “I feel there is much that I would tell you if I was certain you could be trusted.” The statement was a lead-in, a diversion, or both.

“Hey, that goes both ways,” Tony pointed out with a worn smile. “And I get it.” He shrugged. “We’re usually on opposite sides, and this whole alliance thing is brand spanking new. We get along, but it’s hard, right? Because we don’t know for sure that it’d matter if we found ourselves fighting in each other’s direction again. And after everything, it doesn’t help that…” Wow, he was not finishing that sentence. He shouldn’t have _started_ that sentence. His poker face snapped into place, sheepish smile flicking across it to suggest the lack of ending was purposeful. The façade wouldn’t be enough though, and he knew it. He could feel the hint of heat as it happened, part anxiety, part awareness.

The murky undercurrent of potential laced through their interactions had a name now, and Tony couldn’t help but feel that if he could put the pieces together, then so could Loki.

“What doesn’t help, Stark?” Loki pressed thinly, mouth becoming a pale line. His eyes were dark, missed nothing, caught and hung on the light flush beneath Tony’s skin. Danger was evident in his pitch, but it had the cornered quality Tony had witnessed before, defensive, instinctive: a predator searching for a weakness to keep from becoming prey. The turn-around from his earlier tactile casualness was disquieting. “That we have an affinity for one another that is ill-suited to our professions, or that our natures seem _so_ complementary?”

Tony’s blood rushed in his ears. He breathed in, pushed the panic down. When he spoke, he cocked an eyebrow and fed his voice some self-assured good humor, “I wasn’t expecting you to just come out and say it like that.” The guy was testing him, he just didn’t know what the answer key looked like. “Are you hoping for a specific effect, or are you just curious how I’ll react?”

Loki lifted one shoulder with affected helplessness. “If you answer with flat denial or hostility, it will simplify my decision.”

“Well, I’m not going to,” Tony said, brazen. “So there.”

“Yes.” Loki gave a shadowed smile. “I’m beginning to understand that involvement with you will never be simple.”

It was easy for Tony to match his expression. “Right back atcha.” Neither one of them had really addressed the underlying question, but Tony still wasn’t sure if he was ready for it yet, so he didn’t point it out. Besides… it was highly unlikely Loki hadn’t noticed it on his own.

Loki just watched him for several seconds, and then, abruptly, he turned his attention to the opposite wall. “Apologies. I did not intend for the mood to sour.”

“You’re…” Tony trailed off, a little flabbergasted by the sudden change. “Really at a loss right now, aren’t you?”

“Bitterly,” he said, and he sounded it. “I am out of practice in terms of alliances not based on the promise of violence.”

Tony shifted towards him more fully, crooking one leg onto the couch. “Loki, when was the last time you just talked to somebody? I mean.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “From what I heard, you’re a master with words, and you like using them, like learning about people. When was the last time you had a conversation just because you wanted to?”

“Yesterday,” Loki answered after a pause, barely above a whisper. “With you, through Lapis.”

That admission sent a pang of something ricocheting in Tony’s chest. “Oh. Uh…” Christ, Loki wasn’t the only one at a loss. This was not what he’d expected at all. “Sorry, I really don’t know what to say. Except I…” Shit shit _shit_. “I was really excited about getting those replies from you.”

Loki met his eyes again.

Then he dropped the glamour.

Tony hadn’t even been thinking about it anymore, had just internally accepted that the stranger was Loki in disguise, but witnessing the spell drop was a whole other ballgame. The sight of Loki sitting in front of him, bearing some kind of emotion that Tony didn’t understand, punched the breath from Tony’s lungs.

“When you see magic, your expression becomes so honest,” Loki told him with careful observation. The light in his eyes looked less like what Tony had seen recently and more like what he’d seen during that first battle in New York. He thought of the same word he had then: feverish.

A weight settled in the air between them.

“I can’t tell if you think that’s good or bad,” was all Tony could think to say.

Loki got to his feet, fluid, fast. Frenetic energy was in every step he took as he crossed the cabin and back again. “You should not be important. Your kind does not live long enough to be important.”

“That sounds like some wishful thinking, because the way you said it suggests you think that I am,” Tony noted with a calmness that really, really didn’t go all the way through. He watched him move, pace, like he had to be doing something, anything. That was familiar, painfully, personally so.

A sneer contorted Loki’s mouth, and he stilled. “And that is wishful thinking on your part.”

“Mmm, no.” Tony shook his head, tilting his chin up and meeting Loki’s stare head-on. “I don’t think that’s it. What I _do_ wish is that I knew why it bothered you so much.”

He wasn’t expecting the reaction his statement would get, wasn’t expecting Loki to snarl, “ _You were meant to be a pawn!_ ”

Tony’s heart seemed to sink and lodge in his throat at the same time, and he fought not to shrink back. “But I’m not, am I?” he asked, point blank, a little heated. “I have no idea what you’re going through, or what backed you into a corner so damn well that you reached out to an _Avenger_ , but it happened, and you did.” He flicked a hand between them. “And I’m here. I’m gonna be honest with you: I don’t care that you meant to use me. I’m not naive; I already knew that much. But I also knew it could become more than that, and I’m not going to high-tail it out of here if that’s what you’re trying to tell me is going on.”

The line of Loki’s jaw was hard, clenched. He didn’t speak, fists at his sides. The suit hadn’t been part of the spell; he wasn’t wearing armor. That meant something, Tony just didn’t know what. There was turning out to be a lot about this that threw him for a loop.

“We’ve got bad history, Loki.” Slowly, Tony leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, with Loki standing a couple feet in front of him. “Together and individually.”

“And what do you propose we do about that?” By the middle of the question, Loki had pulled some composure around himself again, but Tony was aware of its frayed edges.

“Haven’t the faintest,” he admitted. “But ignoring it probably isn’t going to help. I’ve got a bunch of experience with that, and it’s almost always royally fucked me over. I’d like to stay on my good communication streak, if you’re okay with that.”

The look Loki gave him right then made Tony feel like one of those fish from the deep ocean, the ones people couldn’t make decisions about regarding freakiness vs. coolness. “You are not what I was expecting, Stark,” he said through a partial smile, and wow, Tony had totally nailed that metaphor. A level of solemnity overtook him in a wave, and when he spoke again, he sounded tired. “I cannot give you details about how I came across the information I am giving to you.” Loki reached slowly into his jacket and removed a folder with the tips of his fingers, every motion shouting at Tony that he wasn’t going for a weapon. “There is sorcery involved, but it is not mine.”

“You’re in danger,” Tony observed, gears turning.

Loki’s lie of a smile widened, bloodless. “Yes. But I have received aid from an unexpected source, and that source has led me to discover…” He breathed out a laugh, but the sound was twisted, ill. Whatever it was, Loki’s stance painted a picture of someone risking a whole hell of a lot.

“Discover what?” Tony frowned, intent.

Loki’s eyes snapped away, to the water outside, like he was turning phrases over in his mind. A brief moment later, he returned his attention to Tony. Without preamble, he said in a rough, quick clip, “Agent Coulson is alive. His records were falsified by undercover workers loyal to Norman Osborne. He is being held in an Oscorp facility in North Dakota. The facility’s coordinates and relevant data are in this folder.”

All expression bled from Tony’s face, and he took the packet from Loki when it was offered, silent. His hands were rigid, precise, as he opened it. He let the contents spill into his lap.

Numb, he felt numb. Or angry. Horror-struck? Hopeful.

It was one more thing he didn’t know.

When, after several long moments, Tony still hadn’t spoken, Loki continued, “I realize that, having come from me, this information must be viewed through a lens of doubt, but I have…”

“I have to leave,” Tony said, quiet, barely audible.

“Stark---”

Tony lifted a hand, made a sharp gesture. “No.” He lifted his stare, finally met Loki’s again. There was steely determination coalescing in his skull, an endless well of sheer will, but there was also an exaggerated glint of light in his eyes, moisture. In spite of it, Tony managed to keep his voice calm. “Thank you for the information, Loki. I’ll send Lapis later, but right now, I have to go.” He stood, placed the stack of papers back into the folder.

“Of course.” Loki’s sigh of breath sounded shaky, but how was Tony supposed to know if that emotion was real or not? “One last point, then. I asked for a message to give you to convey that I am telling the truth. He instructed me to say that his name is Agent.”

“The paperwork said he’s in a coma,” Tony said flatly, surprised by how cold his tone was in his own ears. “How could you have spoken with him?”

“I swear to you, Stark.” The words were level, but Tony was well-versed in desperate people trying not to sound it. Loki’s face was pale. “The sorcery is not mine.”

God, was that what all this had been about?

With a quivering hand, Tony covered his eyes.

He’d wanted to tell Tony, and had been scared of his reaction, scared of not being believed.

Tony had the sudden desire to reach out to him, heard Etta James and clinking glasses in his ears.

He thought of red-spattered trading cards and didn’t.

“Okay,” he said, part comfort, part finality. “Okay.”


	14. Waiting

Loki needed to leave.

The vessel belonged to Stark, and he certainly could not stay there. Similarly, it would be inappropriate to follow him, and teleportation out of the city would be a retreat. If he isolated himself, he would lose his grasp on the reason he had divulged so much to Stark. It had meant something, all of it had. He could not dismiss it out of hand, and solitude would lead to precisely that. He needed to stay in the city; he needed immersion, anonymity in a crowd. He needed to remain present. A lungful of tense seconds passed, and Loki stepped onto the ship’s deck to track Stark’s departure. The moment Stark reached the dock, he pulled a phone from his pocket, presumably contacting SHIELD. Wind pulled at the avenger’s suit and hair, soaking up the yellow glow of security lights; he did not look back.

Loki could not take his eyes off of him.

When Stark turned a corner and disappeared, Loki adopted another disguise and started in the opposite direction.

Each footfall felt detached, but each footfall brought him away from the water. He blended into the city’s nightlife with vague designs on journeying towards one of his apartments. All that gave him was a bearing, not a destination. He would be well-served by sleep, but he suspected this was an occasion in which knowledge did not guarantee ability.

No matter how many steps he took on the building-framed sidewalks, some piece of Loki was still on that ship. His mind had yet to surrender the conversation. There were boundaries that he had set for himself, boundaries that stood in denial of the trust he had shown. England had advised him to address his impulsive violence; he had not felt the inclination when speaking with Stark--- a desire to put distance between them, yes, but no intent to harm. As childish as it was, he’d only wanted Stark to believe him.

And he could not hope to predict the damage he had done to himself without visiting the dream, without confirming Coulson was still present and that he still survived. It was possible that once Coulson’s condition improved, the man would no longer be able to enter the prophecy. Furthermore, learning that Coulson was alive, and having that reminder of Loki’s past deeds, could have awoken Stark, could have reintroduced him to the reality in which Loki was an enemy. He could have altered the dream’s conclusion yet again. Those were answers he could only find in sleep.

He was not ready to sleep.

Several people began to laugh together over a table to his left. Their plates were either empty of food or in the process of being cleared by the woman sitting closest to the street, who was surreptitiously disappearing what her associates had left behind. On a whim, Loki swirled his hand and coated the bottom napkin beneath her glass in the illusion of a twenty dollar bill. Spontaneous money, he had found, was a simple and effective means of instilling excitement.

“Just saying,” a pedestrian directly in front of him said roughly to his companion. His shoulder knocked into Loki’s with inconsiderate force as they passed. “It’s the wardrobes, man. Can’t take him seriously. That helmet screams Broadway, not supervillain-ultimate-evil, you know? Fuck.”

Well, that wouldn’t do. Loki glanced behind him at the man’s briefcase until it opened, mysteriously managing to spill its contents in a roll down the nearby storm drain.

“ _Fuck!_ ” the man shouted.

And not a drop of blood spilled.

That was a start. Magic always had been his most reliable outlet, whatever his state of mind. He continued on his way down the street.

It seemed that he had found a way to pass the time. 

\---

The youth shuffled her cards again, eyes performing a subtle sweep of her audience. Her smile was bright, but Loki had seen the moment it went sharp. The girl was confident in her skills, so confident that instead of losing her nerve when her third mark in a row found the queen card, she assumed outside tampering rather than a mistake. She would have been correct; Loki had put the queen in reach on each occasion.

Success and ready money had drawn a crowd, and Loki reflected benign curiosity back at them all. It was a front. Midgardians pressed close around him in a barrage of sensory input; the proximity sent tension coiling in his muscles. With clarity, he could see how the scene would change if a knife came into his hand. Letting his eyes slip briefly closed, Loki shut out the flash of arterial spray and realigned. The instinct was born from the sense of encroached space. There was no danger and no gain to be had.

Standing still, he opened his eyes.

“You’ve seen winners here!” the girl baited. “Who doesn’t want a little extra money for their night out on the town?” The grin she gave them was passably charming. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go!” a woman said, laughing as she stepped forward.

The game began anew.

Loki swallowed past his unrest, subtly swiped his fingers at his side.

The woman found the queen.

Cheers went up throughout the observers.

“It’s like magic!” the girl announced through gritted teeth. It sounded accusatory. On either side of her, her companions were doing their best not to laugh.

Loki covered his mouth with a hand to conceal a frenetic, involuntary smirk. The scene was so very similar to any number that had taken place on Asgard at his instigation. It was familiar ( _Fandral’s amused whisper of, “Loki, give the poor things_ some _chance at a profit.”_ ). Loki’s nails bit into his palms, and the sudden surge of nausea made him turn away. Long lives gave way to long memories. 

Focused on a point down the street, Loki murmured, “I’ll never be free from them, will I?”

“Who wants to try next? It’s almost midnight, perfect time for some luck!” came the invitation to the crowd.

Loki moved on.

He had told Stark that Midgardians did not live long enough to be important, and then he had confessed that Stark _was_ important in the same breath. That exchange was indicative of a much larger revelation, and it warranted further examination. Death hadn’t always come easily to him. He’d learned how to engage in battle alongside Thor, had learned what it was to kill, and then discovered he had the stomach for it through repetition. He began against beasts, then people. In the ensuing years, he’d never failed to comprehend that life was precious; he simply hadn’t _cared_ , whether out of necessity, surrounding circumstances, or inattention. He’d forgotten what it was to be reminded of blood’s weight.

He tore his attention away from the Chitauri-seared building and crossed the intersection.

\---  
\----  
\---

They were quiet, and the glow of the television glazed the room in blue. Tony’s limbs were humming, a crawling sensation itching over his bones. He rocked his head back against the couch and tried to keep his thoughts clear. There was no telling what the next few hours would hold, and he needed to stay alert. It had been a long night. It wasn’t going to get any easier. 

Steve, Natasha, and Clint had gone with the SHIELD team to investigate Loki’s intel, leaving Tony, Bruce, and Thor on call. The three of them hadn’t spoken a word in over an hour, and as the clock inched closer to 3am, the restless need to move was starting to make Tony feel sick. So far, there had been nothing--- no update, no communication, no unrelated summons for superheroes in the city. Waiting was beginning to feel like a physical entity playing around inside his chest. It hurt. He didn’t know if it had more to do with grief or hope, but it hurt. Everything had started happening so damn fast. He’d gotten Hill on the phone when he’d left Loki, and she’d just absorbed everything and _moved_ , on a mission to verify and act.

Then telling the others had been… well. He could barely remember most of it. 

Tony was a master at verbal autopilot. He could churn out an impressive wpm while the rest of his brain kept working at something else. Except, in this case, that something else was shock, and he wasn’t great at breaking heavy news on the best of days. Clint had looked like he wanted to throw a punch when Tony said where he’d gotten the information from, all raw, agonized nerve, but in the end he hadn’t. He’d just searched Tony’s face with his fists shaking at his sides, sharp enough that it was its own strike, and said _I hope you’re right_. The emotion hadn’t lasted long; next thing Tony knew, Clint, Natasha, and Steve were tucked neatly behind the armor of efficiency.

Whatever switch they’d found to flip, Tony was still fumbling for it.

Those words, _I hope you’re right_ , had been crashing in waves through Tony ever since they’d left, except for when Loki took over with red sparks and a chorus of strings.

He pushed a long breath through his teeth, dragged both hands through his hair.

Beside him on the couch, Bruce stopped staring through the television and looked at Tony. His expression was heavy with exhaustion and the same wash of anxiety screwing with the rest of them. Voice barely audible over the commercial, he asked, “When did you sleep last?” 

“When did _you_ sleep last?” Tony countered with an intended smirk that came out as a grimace. He’d turned out to be good at the fighting, but he didn’t think he’d ever be good at the waiting.

Bruce reached out to clasp Tony’s shoulder with one hand before letting it fall away. “Fair enough.” The brief warmth grounded him, made some of the turmoil shrink back.

Coulson was alive, and the others were going to bring him back. He needed to keep that in his head. Coulson was alive, _and the others would bring him back_.

“I’ve grown tired of sitting,” Thor said, choosing that moment to push himself out of his armchair. “I will make us pancakes.” Shadow made him appear almost spectral, and the contrast amplified the weary firmness of his tone.

Bruce straightened and gave him a faint smile. “Why pancakes?”

“The captain provides us with cake during difficult times, but I do not know how to make one so elaborate.” With a gesture towards the kitchen, Thor returned the expression. “Many pancakes will have to serve.” He shifted into a step, and looked at them with a calm question. The guy somehow always managed to project absolutes, and right now he was projecting absolute confidence, like he already knew what the outcome of the mission was going to be, and it was just a matter of finding the right way to wait. Sometimes it was easy to imagine a crown on Thor’s head.

“You’re a hero,” Tony told him before getting to his feet. “We’ll go with you.”

They crowded into the kitchen together, and the bright ceiling lights were as jarring as they usually were between midnight and a reasonable alarm time. It did wonders to convince him that he was awake and that Coulson really might be alive. His dreams never got texture right, and there was no mistaking the cold tile under his bare feet. They fell silent again as Thor eradicated their egg supply to create an impressive mountain of pancakes. With an air of incredulity, Bruce tossed in chocolate chips at regular intervals, and Tony sat at the counter with his arms folded beneath his chin. His life amazed him a little. Growing up, he’d never really blinked at any of it. He’d predicted the wealth and brilliance, but he never could have predicted becoming an Avenger.

He was sitting in his kitchen while a god, who happened to be one of his best friends, made him and another best friend pancakes at three in the morning while they awaited word from a secret organization as to whether or not someone they cared about was alive.

Slowly, he brushed his fingertips over the countertop.

It was real.

“How are you doing, Thor?” Bruce interjected into the silence. That was the specially-honed, ultra-calm voice that Bruce tried to pretend didn’t exist if anybody brought it up. And just like a lot of things that fell into that category, the question had layers that Tony was too out of it to dissect.

Thor frowned down at the batter in apparent confusion. “I am concerned for Agent Coulson’s wellbeing and eager to hear of his return.”

“No, I meant,” Bruce trailed off, dropped another handful of chocolate into the mix. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he shifted his weight. “I meant about…”

“Ah.” Comprehension spread throughout his stance in a slow seep, and Thor’s grip tightened on his spatula. He nodded. “You meant in regards to my brother.”

“Yes.” Bruce’s tone was almost apologetic, but only almost.

Tony opened his eyes, paid attention.

Thor didn’t answer immediately, moved a couple more pancakes over onto the mountain’s plate. Then, very simply, he said, “I am happy.”

“Really…?” Tony whispered.

“He reached out to you, Tony Stark,” Thor elaborated after a moment. “He has sought to give you aid.” With a glance to the side, Thor met his eyes, and he’d never seen him look that tired before. A few strands of hair had pulled loose from their tie, casting strips of shadow across his smile. “I am happy that he has a friend in this, even if that friend is not me.”

Tony grappled for something to say and came up empty. He cleared his throat, had to look away. “Let’s uh. Let’s get started on this pancake tower, yeah?”

Switching off the stove top, Thor nodded again and set the spatula down. Bruce swung open a pantry door to retrieve a hefty bottle of syrup, and they went back to waiting.

\---

News came at 6am. Natasha put a call through to JARVIS, confirmed that Coulson was alive, that he was in a coma, and that they had successfully busted him out of the Oscorp facility. They were en route, on their return to New York. She advised them to get some rest.

Tony clenched his eyes shut and felt like he was going to burst. The grin that split his face next cut the rest of him open too. He was happy, and he hurt, and he wanted to fall back asleep on the couch propped up against Thor or run laughing down the hall or maybe cry.

He ended up not doing any of those things.

First he left Pepper a voicemail and sent Lapis with a message to Loki.

Next he answered the phone when Fury called.

And lastly he made his way to his room and fell face-first into bed, hoping that this time, sleep would be easy.

\---  
\----  
\---

Loki was standing on the roof of a hotel, considering sleep. The thought had become more appealing throughout the morning, and while he did not wish to leave the city, he still did not have the time or frame of mind to determine his apartments’ safety. A similar establishment had served him well in Lisbon, and he was capable of erecting strong enough wards to make a single hotel room secure for a few hours. Exhaustion was heavy in his bones. Whatever trepidation he had felt was being steadily overcome by the need to rest.

When Lapis found him on that ledge, early morning light shone through every jewel. The bird chose a perch on the low wall beside Loki’s hand, and Stark’s message followed.

_We’ve got him. He’s safe. Confession time: my gut instinct is to thank you, but he wouldn’t be in this position at all if you hadn’t almost killed him. I don’t really know what to say here. I’m lost too. It’s not just you. Now, I’m going to try and get some sleep. You probably won’t be able to reach me until late tomorrow, but I’ll contact you again as soon as I can. I think there’s a conversation we need to finish having._

He read the message three times, closed his eyes, and took a slow breath.

In spite of his intentions, Loki had conveyed damnable vulnerability to Stark on several occasions. Rather than exploiting those instances, Stark seemed determined to equalize them. This was one more instance of that. If he had made the same allowance with Victor or numerous other contacts, Loki would likely be grievously injured or caught in a deal he wanted no part of. So far Stark had returned vulnerability with vulnerability of his own. Now it was once again Loki’s decision: offer more or take advantage.

He swallowed, mouth dry.

“I am glad to hear of his safety and well aware that it is not my place to say so,” Loki said, sculpting his voice into a tool that belied little emotion. Stark would not be able to hear it, but it served as a reminder to himself of precisely how much he stood to lose ( _\---or gain---_ ). “Just as I am aware that I do not deserve your thanks. Sleep well, Stark.”

Lapis waited as if to see if more would follow. When nothing did, the message was taken in, and Lapis left.

Loki clenched his jaw and turned away from the skyline. It was time to go to the lobby and find a room.

\---

Waves crashed in the ocean through the forest to his left. His feet found the path, and resolve outweighed the disquiet he had become accustomed to feeling at the start. He reminded himself that his progress was undeniable. If there were further changes, he would adjust to them in the same manner he had before. There was enough time for him to draw in a breath before the path pulled him forward. It felt alive, as though it were leading him into a maw, but Loki did not allow the thought to stick, consciously slid away from the impression to latch instead on the approaching man.

“They got me out,” Coulson greeted as he fell into step beside him.

Loki inclined his head in acknowledgement, eyes sweeping the treeline to hide his expression. The relief in his chest was not gentle. It was jagged. Coulson remained in the dream; he had not lost ground. The noise of the sea rushed in his ears, almost indistinguishable from the scraping sound of his pulse. “So I had heard. How great an awareness do you have of your condition?”

“That would be none of your business,” Coulson told him with false cheer. “Let’s talk about you.”

“I did not know you had so many years to spare,” Loki answered dryly.

The picture of mildness, Coulson said, “You’re snarky for someone who has stabbed the guy helping him in the chest with a magic scepter.” He put his hands in his pockets. “We have work to do, Loki.”

“This is not work for me, agent.” Blood-soaked gravel crunched beneath his heels. “It is life and death.”

“Well, what do you know, I can relate.” One of the creatures howled in the distance, and Coulson bowed his head, assessing. “Hear that? They’re getting closer, sooner.”

A chill ran down Loki’s spine. “What?”

“Now why do you think that is?” Coulson continued as if Loki had not spoken.

His heart rate increased. “Time,” he said through his teeth, instinctive, automatic. “I am drawing nearer to whatever incident their killing me is meant to represent.”

Coulson tilted one hand back and forth and made a noncommittal sound. “Sure, that would be the obvious answer, but it’s not entirely right. You can do better.” When it became apparent that his declaration would not garner a reply, he sighed and elaborated, “This prophecy is driven by you and your actions. You know now that the creatures in here are people you have killed.” He strolled ahead and did not react when another chorus of howls cut across his words. “Why would your past be so much more _present_?”

Because it was beginning to saturate his thoughts with alarming consistency.

Because he was considering divulging portions of it to Stark that he otherwise would have killed to obscure.

“I cannot think of a reason,” Loki said, and it sounded unconvincing to his own ears.

Coulson arched an eyebrow. “Please tell me this is an off night for you, because if you got a reputation for being a good liar from statements like that, I am giving up on the universe.”

Loki felt the impulse to lash out, to do without a weapon and tear into Coulson with his bare hands. He recognized the urge for what it was and did not act on it. “Is there a point to this line of questioning?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“They’re getting closer in every dream. You’re released from the path sooner in every dream. You’re also surviving.” Though his tone had not changed, it was perceptible that Coulson was speaking with greater immediacy than he had previously displayed. “What does that tell you about the direction you’re going in the waking word?”

“That the choices I am making are beneficial.” That the choices he thought would make him weak were instead leading to his survival. But where was the line?

“Three parts to the prophecy.” Coulson directed. “That’s what England told you. What do you think they are?”

A part of him that had become conditioned to lie very nearly did, but he refrained, reminding himself yet again that Coulson’s position within the prophecy was one of aid. He felt the path’s sway begin to weaken and took a preparatory breath before answering, “The first is that some aspect of my past will lead to my death, as communicated through the creatures in the forest. The second, I suspect, is represented by the path, a mindset or goal that will lead me to that point.” In front of them, a creature stumbled into the path and swiveled its head towards them. Loki slowed, assessing. “As to the third… I am uncertain. Perhaps, it has something to do with England’s position as the wisp’s bearer.”

“It doesn’t.” Coulson came to a stop beside him.

“You can deny it?” he asked with crooked smile. Far ahead, the corpse broke into an uneven sprint. “So easily?”

“Clearly, I can,” Coulson replied. “It doesn’t have to do with England. Try again.”

The path’s hold snapped, and they ran.

A dam broke. Pale, twisted shapes slipped through the trees from all sides, converging on them. Loki pushed past without changing speed, deflecting rather than engaging. At his side, Coulson kept pace. He fought not to allow himself to become distracted from their conversation. If the corpses caught him, Coulson would cause him to awaken; he _would not_ be devoured. He needed to remain focused on learning what he could about the prophecy.

He would not watch himself being torn apart, he would not see his blood on clawed hands and spattering soil, he would not---

What were the elements already addressed? He had proposed an explanation for the corpses and for the path. What remained?

The forest itself was likely a mere medium, and the same was probable for the clearing where England held the wisp. Even the permutations of the trees related to his death within the prophecy. There must be a third, clear detail that Loki had thus far overlooked.

“What has been constant through every dream?” Coulson called over to him as they crashed through the underbrush. “Start from the beginning.”

“I appear on the path,” Loki answered, knocking his shoulder into a creature that reached for him and disconnecting the gnarled hand of a branch from his hair. “It pulls me forward. At times I hear England screaming in the distance. The sound of the ocean---” Shock made him fall quiet as the piece fell into place.

“Ah, there you go.” The words were sharp, with a vindictive sort of humor.

“The ocean?” Loki pressed, straining to discern whether he could hear the waves above the howls; he could. It was louder than it once was. Hands and teeth fastened on his arm, and he kicked the creature away. Flesh tore with it, and he restrained a pained syllable on the back of his tongue. “That is the third component’s symbol? But what does it stand for?”

“Can’t give you the big answers.” Coulson gripped a corpse by the back of the neck and threw it out of their course. “You’ve got to come up with those on your own.”

Loki gave a frustrated snarl. The ocean had never held any significance for him. He’d spent time in and around seas on quests throughout his youth, and he had a passing acquaintance with Midgard’s, but he had never felt more than a circumstantial, ephemeral fascination. Why, then, in a prophecy with so great an impact on his life, would the ocean play an integral role? “I can think of no explanation.”

“No part of this dream is random, Loki.” Coulson’s eyes remained trained ahead. “We’re almost to the clearing.”

They slowed when the treeline was at their backs. 

England lifted a hand in greeting, illuminated by the pulse of light hanging above him. Coulson’s assertion that the stages of the dream were passing by at a rapid rate were apparent when looking at the skeleton. There had not been enough time for his body to begin to knit together, to stitch small slivers back to the bone.

“Hello, England,” Loki greeted as he approached, working to relax his breathing. Coulson remained behind. “It seems as though we’ve been making progress.”

There was a nod in response, but sarcasm could be read in his shoulders.

Loki smirked, felt himself begin to stabilize into what had become a well-known element. He was safe; would not be devoured. “When we last spoke, you identified the prediction of my death due to past actions as part of a three-fold prophecy.” He came to stand in front of the wisp. “Is the second aspect represented by the path?”

England nodded.

The confirmation steadied him further. This was information collection, simple, second-nature. “Does the path symbolize a mindset?”

He angled his head to the side, neither a yes or no.

“Does the path symbolize a goal?” Loki attempted again.

England presented the same motion.

Perhaps, then, it was not merely one or the other. “Does it symbolize both?”

A nod.

Once he awakened he would have time to consider the implications of that, but until then, he needed to verify as much of the information from Coulson as he could. “Is the third aspect represented by the ocean?”

Another nod.

“Is it a metaphor?”

England shook his head.

“Are you implying that something in this dream is literal?” Loki asked wryly, and he heard a sound of amusement from Coulson over his shoulder. 

Evidently, that did not warrant a response.

Running a hand over the bloodied gash on his arm, Loki redirected. “Events within the dream are occurring more quickly. Has the length of the dream itself grown shorter?”

England nodded.

“By half?”

England indicated a negative.

“A third?”

England lifted a hand and tapped on his wrist.

“Well,” Loki said in the moments before Coulson’s hand grasped his shoulder. “I suppose that is its own answer.”

\---  
\----  
\---

“Tony.”

He didn’t realize he was awake until he heard Pepper speak, and he decided that it was something that should almost definitely be remedied. “Five more minutes,” Tony murmured, voice sleep-thick. He pulled a pillow over his head to be thorough. “I can be a little late, promise.”

The mattress dipped as Pepper sat beside him. “Tony.”

In steady, firm increments, reality set in: Pepper wasn’t convincing him to pay attention to his alarm, it wasn’t a repeat of nearly every morning when they’d been dating, because they had broken up, and Pepper didn’t live there anymore, and last night SHIELD had found and rescued Phil Coulson with intel they’d gotten from Loki. That kicked around inside his head for a few moments until it found a place to stick.

Tony let the pillow slide off his face and cracked one eye open. “Hi, Pep. What a lovely day we’re having.” Not that he’d know, because this was the first he was seeing of it, but it was a day in which Coulson was still alive, so. ( _Bloody trading cards on a table top, Loki striding smoothly forward with that scepter, glass shattering, sun hanging high, empty air---_ )

“Hi, Tony,” she said, smiling. She was dressed up, either heading to or from an important lunch, which meant it was later than he’d wanted it to be. Hopefully he hadn’t slept through his appointment with Fury; he’d gotten the impression this wasn’t one he could miss. In her lap, she was holding a thin stack of papers. “Can you talk business yet, or do you need your coffee?”

“You ask that like you don’t know the answer,” Tony accused. He palmed his cell-phone off the side table: five past noon, good. His head didn’t hurt and he felt like he’d slept decently. Today was going to be full of surprises, he could tell. The undercurrent of anxiety from earlier was still there, but knowing the mission was a success? That made it quieter. He almost felt level, and he couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened.

Pepper stood and indicated the door. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

As soon as she was up, he realized the last thing she’d heard from him was a less-than-coherent message on her phone telling her Coulson was alive. “Pep,” Tony called out, shooting upright when she began to walk away.

After an abortive step, she stopped, turned to him. Carefully banked concern creased the corners of her eyes. “Yes?”

With that question came the follow-up to the previous realization: he’d also told her that he’d gotten the information from Loki, and he still had no idea how to feel about that tid-bit. There hadn’t really been time to process. Or, well, there _had been_ , but he hadn’t been in the right place mentally for it. He winced and looked down. “You’re not… going to ask?”

“Your voicemail covered the basics,” she said composedly. “That he’s alive, and how you knew. The details can wait until you’re dressed and caffeinated.” Then she grinned at him, and he could see that same giddy relief in her face that he’d been feeling too, the kind of relief that didn’t care about circumstances. “Besides, I know better than to try to have a big conversation with you just after you’ve woken up. You wrote limericks about board members on a morning I asked for your signature too early.”

“My creativity keeps no schedule.” His smile brightened to reach his eyes. “Thanks.”

Her expression matched his just before she closed the door behind her.

After it clicked shut, a ball of colorful light zipped from behind the curtains to hang in front of him with a musical note of insistence.

Recognizing Lapis straight off helped him to keep his totally-not-terrified-shriek-of-surprise internal. “Lapis!” he hissed, jolting backward to knock his skull against the headboard. “Bad bird. No! We give _warnings_ in this house, okay? Rule one of living with super heroes: don’t sneak up on anyone.”

Lapis landed on his stomach and pecked him.

“Ow.” He reached out, and Lapis transferred onto his hand. “Okay, what have you got for me?”

With soft glow, the message slipped past the bird’s beak to hang in the air above him. The words ordered themselves into, _I am glad to hear of his safety and well aware that it is not my place to say so. Just as I am aware that I do not deserve your thanks. Sleep well, Stark._

Tony stared at the words and read them another time to make sure he’d gotten it right; he had. 

That was not what he’d expected. To be fair, he didn’t really know what he _had_ expected, but that definitely wasn’t it.

And he had no idea how to respond--- because, yeah, Loki was right. There was a reason that they’d all thought Coulson was dead, and that reason was that Loki had almost killed him. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Tony pushed out a slow breath. He was in over his head. What was he doing? After everything Loki had done, how could he be sitting in his room, thinking of how much he just wanted to send the guy a message and tell him it was all right?

Experimentally, Tony laid back and tried to summon up the miserable anger he’d felt when he’d seen those bloody trading cards. It was still there, right beside each loss he’d ever taken into himself and stored away. It was easy to bring to the surface, to feel again, so he did. He examined it, turned it over, attempted to stay clinical. Then, watching the ceiling above him, he let go of the reins. For a long moment, he felt sick, but the anger didn’t go anywhere. It didn’t latch onto his thoughts of Loki. It just sank back into him like it sensed a stranger.

“That’s the only way I’m going to be okay with this,” Tony whispered, falling apart or falling together, but falling either way. “If I know he’s not going to hurt people anymore.” A self-deprecating laugh arched out of his throat. “Way to go, Tony. Always been one for the tall orders.”

Lapis chirped at him and nibbled on his thumb.

“I don’t have a message for you to take to him yet,” he said. He set Lapis down on his pillow as he stood. “Can you wait around?”

The bird made a noise that sounded positive, so Tony headed for his closet.

He didn’t want to keep Pepper waiting longer than he already had.

\---

The coffee was warm, just a hair shy of too bitter, and smelled like a comfortable way to start the day. They sat side by side, postures mirroring each other with folded hands around their cups. On the table in front of them, Pepper had spread out the papers. It only took one glance for Tony to recognize the language of a contract and to guess what it was. He wasn’t quite ready for that, so he stayed staring forward, with that cup in his hands, talking to Pepper about Coulson.

“They have him in a SHIELD hospital,” Tony said. “The security’s tight, so it’ll be hard getting in to see him for a few days. They’re still trying to figure out who was responsible for betraying them to Oscorp.”

“Do they have any leads…?” Pepper asked. There was a faraway look in her eyes that Tony could empathize with.

He shook his head. “I have no idea. It’s not something they keep me up to date about. Not exactly my department.”

“What about his condition?” She brought her cup to her mouth, took a shallow sip. “In your message, you said he was in a coma…?”

“Yeah, but it’s…” Tony trailed off. The specifics were still far out of his league; _magic_ was still far out of his league, no matter the research he’d done. “It’s a coma, but they think it might be magical in nature.”

“Loki?” The question was sharp, but not quite accusatory.

“Not according to him.” His tone said more than he’d really intended, but that’s what it all boiled down to, right? That Loki said he wasn’t involved, and Tony had figure out whether or not to believe him. “They’re calling in a specialist to evaluate.”

“A specialist in comas or a specialist in magic?”

“The second one.” He swallowed a sizable gulp of coffee. “But like I said. Not my department.”

Pepper nodded, processed. “What are you thinking?”

It was the same thing she used to ask when he was having a rough night, a rough morning, mid-afternoon, brunch, etc--- open-ended with the line of conversation in his hands. When the familiarity sank in, he answered, “Mostly I’m just happy. Which, you know, is an understatement, but you also know how I am with expressing a wealth of emotion. It’s not every day a friend comes back from the dead.”

The smile that settled on her mouth was sad. “I know.”

Sand that wasn’t there caught in his throat, scratched at his skin until he took a solid breath. He thought of the desert, and then he didn’t. Grasping for a topic change, he asked, “What are the papers for?”

“I completed the contract for Loki that you requested,” Pepper transitioned smoothly. She set her coffee cup down like a barrier being deconstructed, and she shifted to face him on the couch. “But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about first.”

“Shoot,” Tony said, hoping that wasn’t what it would feel like. 

Point-blank, she continued, “When we spoke before, you acknowledged feelings for Loki, but you didn’t clarify what you planned to do about it. Do you intend to pursue a relationship with him?”

Tony answered that the only way he could. “I don’t know.”

She picked up the contract’s first page and handed it to him. “Do you understand why I’m asking?”

He thought about it. The language in the first few paragraphs had the same legalese that he was used to seeing in conjunction with Stark Industries. It looked like any other business contract. Tony frowned. Maybe that was the problem. “Because there’s a difference between a business and a personal relationship,” he said, slow, chewing it over. “And I need to figure out if I want one, both, or neither before I bring a contract into it.”

An alert went off on Pepper’s phone. She reached into her pocket, silenced it.

Tony set the paper down again. “Your lunch appointment?”

“Yes.” Pepper sighed and smoothed one hand over her blouse. “I’ll leave the contract here with you. Look through it and see if there are any amendments you’d like to make?”

He nodded.

Standing, she retrieved her briefcase. “And Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“You have me,” she told him, irrefutable. People had a tendency to underestimate Pepper Potts until the moment they were made to understand the light behind her eyes was power; they underestimated how persistently she could bring that power to bear on anyone who threatened what she loved. “Whatever you choose, you’ll have me. Just be careful. Please.”

( _The glow from the lighthouse spun above their heads, and Tony watched the ocean waves far below. Something about it, something about the sound, churn, and depth, synchronized with him, and he felt a connection to it. The wind washed their voices back to them: I love you, I’m not going anywhere, you’ll always have me. Pepper leaned her head against his shoulder, and yeah. It was a break-up. But it wasn’t the end of them._ )

His tongue stumbled on half a dozen things that would break him, and discarded them. Swallowing a mouthful of coffee, he decided on, “If I decide to ask out a supervillain, I promise you’ll be the first call I make.”

“I better be,” she said, and she left, a trail of memories in her wake.

Tony leaned back, letting his head loll against the couch. His pulse sounded like a sea in his ears, and when he closed his eyes, he remembered flashes of magic and sharp smiles.


	15. Answer

There was no way for him to be comfortable in the chair. It had nothing to do with its construction and everything to do with Fury sitting across from him, giving Tony his patented _goddammit, Stark_ stare. It made him mentally sort through the past few days in search of what he’d done to earn it, and there was plenty of material this go around. Tony shifted awkwardly and drummed his fingers on the armrests. When the quiet threatened to send him along an antsy stream of babbling, Tony headed it off with, “So…”

Fury didn’t let him finish. “Thirty minutes.”

“Which is significantly fewer minutes than the last time I was late,” Tony pointed out, injecting positivity into the statement.

Fury reclined backwards. He didn’t look like he was having trouble getting comfortable. “Do I strike you as a man who isn’t busy, Stark?” As if to punctuate the point, his phone rang, and he jabbed a key to silence it.

“No?” Hurriedly, he amended, “I mean, definitely no, but this time I actually had a legitimate reason.” Tony gave him a winning smile.

It had the expected effect, i.e. none whatsoever. “Such as?”

Reviewing a contract for an alliance with Loki. “Business-y things.” Tony waved a hand and crossed one leg over the other before he decided he preferred having both feet planted on the floor. He moved again. “I won’t bore you with the details.”

In keeping with tradition, Fury did not seem impressed. “I want you to explain to me why Loki gave you the information that he did. Then I want you to outline the ways you can get him to do it again.”

“No offense, but that’s not happening.” Tony’s expression hadn’t changed, he was sure of it, but there was ice in his tone he didn’t remember putting there. Internally, he felt himself settle around the chill. “I _can_ tell you that Loki didn’t confide in me because I was using him. I’m not going to start now.”

“What a delightful moral high ground you’ve found with a proven mass murderer,” Fury commented with a slight arch of his eyebrows.

Tony flinched.

“Good,” Fury said when he saw the impact. “Now, this one damn time, listen to me instead of jumping to conclusions.”

“Okay,” Tony said, clipped, sincerity undecided. It felt like every facet of him was being evaluated, which was something he was used to, but not in this context. 

After a moment, Fury gave a shallow nod, apparently satisfied. “What motivated Loki to tell you Agent Coulson was alive?”

Tony glanced away, shaking his head. “Look, he keeps a tight lid on the sorts of things he’s been telling me, and I’m not okay airing the reasoning to SHIELD.”

“It’s information that could save lives.”

“What do you think will happen if the one time Loki trusted someone, that same someone took it to an intelligence agency?” Tony shot back.

Fury studied him and made a fast, accurate assessment. “You’re attached.”

Panic shot through Tony and expressed itself as hesitation.

“Tell me the truth.” There was a warning in Fury’s tone. It wasn’t the kind Tony had heard leveled at enemies, but it was still undeniably present. “Don’t let me figure it out down the line.”

His mouth was dry. The words were brittle. “I’m attached.”

“Compromised?”

It meant a lot that Fury was leaving that question up to him to answer.

Tony thought about it, thought about the battles, the spilled blood, the noise, and the chaos. In his mind, he replayed past scenes of destruction and tried to filter them through his current perspective. If it came down to it, if he had no other choice, would he be able to kill Loki? Would he be able to act?

This was so fucked up.

“No,” he answered, feeling sick at the imagined blood on his hands--- because that’s what would happen if everything went to shit. “I’m not compromised.”

At first, Fury didn’t say anything. He just crossed his arms and watched. The weight of his consideration wasn’t as severe as before. It was too reserved to be concerned but too attentive to be impersonal. He spoke after a sharp exhale. “It’s an old story, Stark.” That was the moment when Tony knew he hadn’t kept the truth as under wraps as he thought. Fury wasn’t the sort of person who missed things. “Don’t make the obvious mistakes.”

“I’m trying,” Tony said quietly.

“Wrong answer.”

“Fine,” Tony snapped, hands forming fists. The anger was abrupt, and he had no idea where it had come from, only that it was salient, _there_. “I _won’t_.”

Fury went back to watching.

Tony counted his pulse behind eyelids squeezed shut.

“I have the picture I needed of the situation,” Fury said.

“That’s great for you,” Tony replied, bitter. “That’s really goddamn great for you, but I don’t, so if you could _not_ sit there and analyze me like I’m an assignment, well, I might just appreciate it.”

Fury didn’t react to the bait he was dishing out. “I’m not here to accuse you, Stark.”

“Then what is this?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, he hadn’t even meant to say it, and, fuck, he was panicking wasn’t he, this was panic, this was him freaking out, because he was falling hard for a guy who really might kill them all, who really might---

“Stark.” It came out like a command.

Tony didn’t like commands. God, this could end bad.

“Stark,” Fury repeated, less demanding.

“What?”

“Calm the fuck down, and stop projecting your insecurities at me,” he said slowly, evenly. “I am here to appraise threats and assets. Your personal life is not on my radar, and it will stay that way unless it enters into one of those zones. So tell me.” He leaned forward and caught Tony’s eyes. “Is Loki still the same threat he was before you became involved?”

Part of Tony wanted to object to that phrasing, but he couldn’t really. It wasn’t like it was a lie. “I don’t know. We…” Tony swallowed, glanced away. “It’s on our list of things to talk about.”

“When you find out,” Fury began, and then he shook his head, let it hang, gave a humorless smirk.

“When I find out,” Tony agreed, still looking anywhere but at SHIELD’s director. Sensing the end of the extremely uncomfortable conversation, he stood, ready to leave, needing to be anywhere that wasn’t an office with Fury in it.

“One more thing.”

Tony didn’t respond, but he paused to listen.

“If this goes south, make sure you’re on the right side.” 

Because Fury would kill him if necessary, and that was the best warning he could give.

Tony turned just enough to meet his eyes and plaster on a lopsided smile. “Don’t I always?” And then he continued out the door before Fury could answer.

\---

A chirp greeted Tony when he walked into his bedroom. Lapis was still sitting on his pillow.

“Hey, birdie,” Tony said around a smile that was disproportionately weary compared to the energy in the rest of him. “Still don’t know what to say yet. Sorry.”

After a short, cascading series of notes, Lapis dimmed, as if returning to sleep. That opened up a whole other avenue of thought regarding biological processes in magical, animal-based interfaces, but it was curiosity that Tony didn’t have time for. He’d already made commitments in the ensorcelled branch of scientific discovery, namely to that dome that had started this whole mess, and those were answers that should be categorically prioritized.

Tony sat down on the edge of his mattress.

He was shaking.

_Why_ was he shaking?

“Okay, self,” he muttered. “Take a nice, long inventory.”

Was he shaking because a) that meeting with Fury was more emotionally exhausting than it was snarkily frustrating, which threw him off as far as Fury was concerned, b) he’d had to acknowledge, process, and dissect an attraction-thing he’d only known about for a little over twenty-four hours in those _same_ twenty-four hours, c) that attraction-thing involved a supervillain, d) a friend he thought was dead was not dead but in a magic coma, or e) holy fuck, what was his life, this list was ridiculous?

“Ridiculous,” Tony decided. He tipped backwards. “JARVIS?”

“ _Sir?_ ”

“What am I supposed to be doing today?”

“ _At present time, you have no appointments scheduled._ ”

Tony turned his face to the side and looked at the stack of papers on his nightstand. Yeah, he needed a break from thinking about that. With a groan, he forced himself into a sitting position, and then to his feet. “I’m going to go to the lab and work through my problems by working through other problems.”

“ _Very good, sir._ ”

The hallway was lit up by the light of early evening, and it was strange for a moment until Tony remembered that he’d woken up at noon. Damn, he’d really wanted some sunlight. Guess he’d have to wait until another day. He made his way to the elevator, pressed the button, and shoved his hands into his pockets with a sigh. What was he going to work on? He had a list of things to look over for Stark Industries, but magic was occupying his brain, and he didn’t do well with business while that distracted. Maybe he could delegate some items to JARVIS, and---

The elevator doors slid open.

Thor and Jane were standing inside.

Tony blinked at them. “Going down?”

“Tony!” Jane let bags of what appeared to be take-out slide off her arms so that she could step forward, pull Tony into the elevator, and then give him an unexpectedly intense smile that looked like a floodgate for words she was still putting in the right order.

Surprise shot through him. “Hi, Jane?” Tony glanced over to Thor, confused and wondering what he’d done to earn the expression she was aiming at him. The last encounter between him and Jane had culminated in him accidentally (really!) stealing her favorite coffee mug, so he’d expected a comment about thievery. Or a prank co-executed with Darcy. Thor just gave him a quiet smile, and everything clicked: he’d told her. Tony had no idea how _much_ Thor had told her, but evidently it was enough to warrant super smiles that made feelings well up inside Tony’s chest.

“I was wondering…” Jane said, letting go of his arm. Her eyes were shining. “If I could use the lab tonight? I brought food.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Tony realized abruptly. Looking down, he eyed the bags. God, he was hungry. How had he not known how hungry he was? “Yes. Yes to the lab, always, obviously, and yes to the food.” He turned to punch the button for the lab, and the doors closed. A grin broke out across his face when he shifted back, automatic at the enthusiasm behind Jane’s expression. Her eager interest was contagious. “What brings you to my humble facilities?”

“Humble?” she smirked.

“Question dodger.”

Jane reached into her bag and retrieved the Talk Nerdy To Me notebook that Clint had gotten her the previous December. Flipping to a yellow tab, she handed it to him. “As you know, we’re still having a bit of trouble creating our own Einstein-Rosen Bridge. In my research, I discovered a related application that could achieve short-range results on a much smaller scale.”

Tony’s eyebrows made a bid for his hairline as he scanned the page, the one after it, the one after that. “Are you… Are you telling me that you’ve figured out teleportation?”

“Um, I’m not sure I’d call it that---”

“---would you call it almost instantaneous transport from one point to another?”

“Yes?”

“ _Teleportation!_ ” Tony said excitedly, holding up the notebook.

“Beginning stages!” Jane countered with a laugh as she reclaimed her notes. “That’s why I need your lab. I’m still waiting for my equipment to be shipped in, and even when it gets here, it’ll take a while to set up.”

Tony clapped a hand on her shoulder and then reached down to help with the take out. “My instruments for science, your instruments for science.” It had been a while since he’d shared lab space with Jane. He missed it. The last time, it’d been him, her, and Bruce, and it was a beautiful, caffeine-driven slumber party of learning. There could never be too many of those. And he hadn’t been able to share that so far with Thor, and it looked like the guy was sticking around. 

When the elevator doors opened, Thor palmed the recess while they passed in front. “I hope you will find this food enjoyable.”

“Date night discovery,” Jane confided. “We try to go to a new restaurant once a month. One of the most fun parts is actually the disguises. We managed to get in and out of this one without anyone recognizing us.”

“Oh my god,” Tony said, completely derailed. “Please tell me you took pictures. Please tell me there are so many pictures. Make my life happy.”

“I have pictures, Tony Stark.” Thor’s grin was wide, and he went into his pocket for his cell phone. He brought the screen up for Tony to see as they set the bags of take out down on a table top. The first few pictures in his photo gallery were of a cat that was glaring more than staring at the camera; then came the gold: Thor in argyle. _Thor in argyle._

“Posters,” was Tony’s first response, because he could make a wall of them, a whole wall.

“No,” was Jane’s answer, her expression fond.

“Aw.”

The three of them spent the next half hour chatting over food while Jane fed her information to JARVIS and Tony went through his work list. There were a few minor tech specs Pepper had sent him for approval before they went through, but like he’d thought earlier, they were all things JARVIS could evaluate. The Beauregard Ring loomed more prominently in his mind, and he twisted it around his finger without looking away from the screen in front of him.

Comparatively? This was a time of calm. They weren’t currently being attacked by aliens or giant monsters, and Tony didn’t have a mission on the roster. This was the perfect time for him to get lost in a new project, and Loki had given him one. He’d already done preliminary data gathering when he’d first gotten the ring. Now he had the chance to figure out a way to put it to use.

Thor made a sound of recognition.

Wondering if he was reacting to the enlarged representations of the script coating the ring, Tony turned.

Thor wasn’t watching him. He was watching Jane.

With a questioning look, Jane stopped tapping her chin with the end of a pen. “Hun?”

“I did not notice when reading it in your notebook, but in this format, it is familiar to me.” Thor leaned forward beside Jane, elbows on his knees. His expressive eyes scanned the screens containing Jane’s work. “There are sections of this equation that are very similar to the written form of a spell used by my brother.”

Well, that was interesting. If by interesting, one meant really goddamn ground-breaking.

Tony was extremely focused on that statement. “Seriously?”

Jane seemed to be in the same boat. “Really? Can you tell me more about it? I mean, we’d always known that magic and science couldn’t be exclusive, that they must be extensions of one another, but we haven’t had many opportunities to make an informed study of them side-by-side.”

“Forgive me,” Thor laughed, looking between the two of them with amusement. “It was never one of my strengths. I know how to combat magic, but spellwork wasn’t an ability I could cultivate myself. Not everyone can. I only recognize it now because I often sat with my brother and mother during his lessons.” Something sad crept in behind Thor’s smile. He gestured at the screen. “He had trouble with this one. It took a great deal of practice.”

Tony tried to look like he was eating up the information for the sake of research and not also because it involved Loki. “What was the spell for?”

“Teleportation,” Thor said, beaming at Jane.

The sheer amount of love-struck adorableness in the room made Tony hide a dopey grin in his carton of noodles.

“I’m going in the right direction then,” Jane said with determined conviction. Then she angled her head towards Tony. “What about you? How’s your direction?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand and swiped a field of text towards her with another. “Uh, it’s more of a spiral? Generally focused downward. A nosedive, if you will. But I’ll get out of it.”

Purple light and runes scrolled in front of her. “Wow, is this…?” she asked, a little breathless.

Waggling his fingers, he indicated his ring. “Magic, Dr. Foster. Magic.”

\---

Tony had his eyes glued to his tablet when he got back to his bedroom. The symbols from the sphere were boxed off and categorized, passing across the screen with each swipe of his finger. None of them rang even a single bell, but with Jane and Thor’s help, he’d been able to make some progress. Thor couldn’t identify the symbols but could confirm they were in Loki’s handwriting, and Jane had reminded him that Loki wasn’t the one who had written the original spell. The shark guy from the Solomon isles had done that, so it stood to reason that whatever source the symbols pulled from wouldn’t be Asgardian.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much information on shark guy, except that he was dead and kinda a terrible villain. JARVIS was running the symbols through a database, but it was going to take time.

As he sprawled out on his bed, Lapis looked up and pulsed with light.

That brought Tony hurtling from science to the realm of his personal life, a realm that was confusing, terrifying, and couldn’t seem to pick a genre.

“Right,” he said, setting the tablet aside and running a hand through his hair. It looked like it was time to revisit some things. He watched the bird for a moment, gathering himself. “Okay. Let’s just think this through. Step by step. Easy.”

His mind blanked.

The problem was that he had no idea where to start. These were heavy topics with heavy choices, and there were so damn many of them. At this point, he’d accepted that he had feelings for Loki. That was the first big hurdle. Now he needed to consider what he wanted to do about it. Talking to Pepper had helped him determine that, yeah, the feelings weren’t impulsive. They were deep; he’d been walking obliviously poolside by the deepest of deep ends, and something had pushed him in, and not knowing it until impact didn’t change the reality of being soaked and spluttering.

But that wasn’t the only factor.

“I can’t get involved with a guy with plans for world domination,” Tony said into the air above him.

Lapis started recording.

“Wait, no!” Tony said, rolling over, gesturing wildly. “Delete! _Delete!_ ”

Tilting its head, Lapis spit the words back out and burrowed further into the pillow.

He plopped down again, relieved. “Thanks.”

When his pulse returned to a non-panicked pace, he picked up where he left off. He couldn’t start something with Loki if the guy was hurting innocent people. It didn’t matter how Tony felt about him. As long as Loki was someone Tony worked to protect people from, a romantic relationship between them wasn’t going to work. A carefully-negotiated alliance with consequences and conditions, maybe, but not a relationship like the one he wanted--- namely, one with a future. The mad-science magic and stolen artifacts, Tony was pretty sure he could handle, but the murder he couldn’t. There wasn’t any getting around it.

And if, in spite of all that, he was still attracted to Loki’s mind, and the way it communicated itself through magic and emotion and action, well. That was something he would have to deal with. That was something he would have to find a way to guard against, no matter how much he wished he didn’t have to.

So where did that leave them? Where had they ended up?

They’d moved forward, and that realization struck him square in the chest.

The Loki who had crashed into the ocean with him would not have told him about Coulson. Their dynamic, their _relationship_ had changed. The connection that Tony had wanted to make? It happened. But he had no idea what would come next, and that scared him. The straightforward, honest truth was that it _scared him_. He didn’t know what to do.

He wished someone could lay all of this stuff out for him in base facts, in its simplest terms, so he could think linearly and decide.

He missed Rhodey.

A shaky breath hissed in through his teeth and out again. “Lapis? I’m ready now.”

The bird lit up and chirped.

“Hey,” Tony began, terrified and utterly infatuated and trying to be brave. “Do you remember the beach where you asked me to talk? I’d like to talk there again, if that’s okay.” He swallowed, mouth dry, and added, “Tomorrow morning? Around ten?” Then quietly, “That’s it, Lapis.”

Several silent minutes after Lapis had left, Tony was still watching the ceiling.

\---  
\----  
\---

After he awoke in the hotel, he called for its staff to deliver a meal to his room. His wards had held throughout the day, they registered no encroachments, and he felt no immediate need to leave. The previous night’s compulsion to remain in the city had not faded. Matters with Stark had been left in an unacceptable position; if he wished to conclude their conversation from the ship, Loki intended to be nearby.

And there were other issues that required his consideration. The knowledge that the ocean’s representation in the dream was _literal_ provided many avenues of thought.

Even now, when it entered his mind, he almost felt that he could hear the sound of waves behind him.

Loki looked over his shoulder, into nothing, and then through the window towards the city coming to life beneath the dusk.

Of the possibilities he could foresee, there were several that seemed most plausible: that the ocean represented the occasion when the dome had trapped him in the water with Stark, which was arguably the point where much of this had began; that the specific event which could result in his death involved the ocean; or that the ocean represented his numerous encounters with Stark, many of which had taken place near the water.

Perhaps it was all three.

Perhaps in the absence of England defying the dream’s restrictions, when he had used the wisp’s light to illustrate the contraption in Stark’s chest, the ocean would have been the allusion to his ally’s identity.

These were questions to be asked of England on his next visit to the dream. 

An end was in sight. The prophecy was nearly unraveled.

Relief and a sense of vindictive accomplishment curled his mouth in a vicious half-smile.

It was short-lived. Loki was uncertain what his next move in the waking world should be, and uncertainty was dangerous. Interpretation could only do so much to progress the situation. He’d already exhausted his previous objectives: he’d learned what he could from England, he had reached a stand-still with Coulson’s condition, and he remained in the dark about what avenue the threat he faced would come from. That left Stark, and his most recent overtures had not gone well. There was simply too much about the situation that Stark did not know.

Seeking a diversion, Loki retrieved a notepad from the room’s desk and began to transcribe notes on the dome. His mind wandered regardless.

How could he hope to maintain an alliance with a man who put so much stock in trust? Stark was able to see that something was eating away at him. He’d sensed that Loki was in danger, but without recognizing that Loki was working against a prophecy, many of his actions could seem suspect.

Stark needed more information.

The thought came to him easily enough, but that was the only easy aspect of it. If he made a mistake, or if his confidence was misplaced, it could kill Loki just as readily as the prophesized danger. Or, he could inadvertently drag Stark down with him. He needed to consider if the greater risk was the possibility of Stark acting against him due to a misunderstanding or the possibility of Stark’s betrayal once he understood the stakes. The answer to that was clear: Stark was not wired for the betrayal of someone he had developed sentiment towards, but he would be capable of acting against them because of a perceived threat.

Loki realized, with no small amount of irony, that the safest thing for him to do at this juncture was to tell Stark the truth.

He was reclining in a chair beside the window, surrounded by sheets of the hotel’s stationary, when Lapis finally bore him Stark’s message.

The bird perched on his hand and bit at his pen while he read.

_Hey, do you remember the beach where you asked me to talk? I’d like to talk there again, if that’s okay. Tomorrow morning? Around ten?_

“I remember,” Loki said. “I will be there.”

\---

Sunlight framed Stark against the expanse of ocean, and the sight of him standing there made wariness settle in Loki’s bones. He wondered if this was what he would see if he ever ran towards the shore instead of the wisp. 

“Hey,” Stark said with a cautious, partial smile.

Loki nodded in greeting and began to order his thoughts. If their encounter was to have any hope of proceeding calmly, then he needed to take particular care with his approach. The intent to speak the truth was oftentimes not enough to prevent that truth from incurring disaster; that was evident from the last revelation he’d presented.

Redistributing his weight from one foot to the other, Stark asked, “How do you want to do this?”

“Elaborate.”

“This conversation.” Stark looked up to meet his eyes. “Where’s the right place to start?”

A crooked smile found its way onto Loki’s face. The question’s optimism was almost sweet. “In my experience, there rarely is one.”

Stark studied him, arms folded across his chest in a manner that was contradictorily defensive, patient, and challenging. “Okay, then. Pick your poison.”

In spite having readied himself for this eventuality, Loki’s mouth went dry. There were many matters they needed to discuss, and he had a choice to make. He’d already trusted Stark with more than his original plans had ever dictated. Diplomatic ventures he’d made in his youth came to mind, but these were stakes that he could not detach himself from with professionalism. Now he was faced with providing the explanation he knew Stark needed in order to understand, in order to make an informed decision. “On your ship,” he began, slow, careful. “You alluded to circumstances having backed me into a corner.”

“Yeah,” Stark said, more a suggestion than a response.

Anxiety like electric shocks made his hands spasm briefly at his sides. He breathed in, out. “I would like to explain those circumstances to you.” Each word held an unbearable weight, and in the seconds after he’d spoken, Loki wanted nothing more than to retract them. He was lucky that such a thing was impossible.

The reaction was immediate. Surprise flitted across Stark’s face, and then his mouth formed a somber line. “I’m going to be honest. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“No,” Loki said. Bitter humor colored his tone. “I did not suspect you would.”

Stark cast around him for a moment, searching. With an exhale, he walked away from the surf and sat on the sand sloping up from the water. “Well?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside him.

It seemed like such an easy thing for Stark to offer.

It made Loki want to kill; it made him want to run.

He buried the impulse and sank to the ground beside Stark. In front of them, the ocean stretched out to the horizon, light reflecting off the waves. The sound of it came from all sides, and Loki knew that if he closed his eyes, he would see the path. “On rare occasions in my life, I have had prophetic dreams,” he began, eyes on the horizon. “Their import has varied, but they have always come to pass.”

“Hold it.” Stark shifted, bracing himself with one hand behind him. “Are you telling me that sometimes you can see the future?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He seemed to digest that for a moment and then nodded. “Guess it’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard. Go on.”

Loki’s hands dug into the loose sand. The words he chose next were important; they would be the threshold, and if he didn’t say them now, they would go unused. His voice did not falter; he did not allow it to. “I dreamed of my death.”

There was the sound of a sharp, quick intake of breath.

Silence followed.

Loki did not look at him. “The prediction was not… absolute. I was able to use factors within the prophecy to determine how to change it. How to save myself.”

The pieces fell into place, and Stark saw them for what they were. “Me. An alliance with me. That’s what made you reach out.”

It was true.

It was true, so why did he feel an immediate, internal denial?

“That is not all it was,” Loki said quietly.

“Yeah.” Stark was watching him. “I know.” Peripherally, he saw Stark make an abortive motion as if to touch him. “What do you need?” The question was a whisper. His eyes had more volume, reflecting sunlight back at him when Loki turned to meet them. “What do you need from me to get out of this alive?”

His pulse tripped, and shock coursed down his spine at the plain acceptance the words implied.

He had thought---

He had been wrong.

“I manipulated you,” Loki said in honest confusion. “You must realize that.”

“Yeah, I do. I knew that from the start, I just didn’t know the reason.” Stark twisted around so that he was angled towards him. “We went through this, Loki, two nights ago.”

“Then _why?_ ”

Something complicated happened to Stark’s expression. “Because I like you. A lot. And I want you to be okay.”

\---  
\----  
\---

Tony had no idea where his calm had come from, but he wasn’t going to look that gift horse in the mouth. As long as it was helping him say what he needed to say, it was a plus in his mind. There were more eloquent ways to have put it, sure, but if he spent any longer thinking about how to tell Loki those things, he’d probably run out of time. And if Loki was trying to alter a goddamn prophecy about his death, then he wasn’t going to waste any more chances. He’d deal with the implication of prophecies being a thing later. Right now, it was more important for him to figure out what it meant for Loki, and apparently, him.

“You like me,” Loki repeated. “How simplistic.”

“Oh, it is not simple,” Tony said through a jagged smile. “And you know it.”

“Of course I know.” His tone snapped from smooth to a snarl with a transition like whiplash; it was starting to get familiar. “You have been a complication since the moment we escaped that charlatan’s spell.”

Tony’s smile gentled. “Are you sure? Because I think it might have been since I offered you a drink.” Slowly, he got to his feet and brushed the sand from his clothes. “But I don’t think I want to have the rest of this conversation in the heat.” He jerked his head towards the boat. “Want to see if we can get it right this time?”

There was brief hesitation in the way Loki stared up at him, but he stood fluidly and started back to the boat at Tony’s side. 

Now that Tony knew what to look for, he thought he could identify the tension Loki carried around his shoulders. Hell, he empathized with it. Facing the distinct probability of one’s death wasn’t exactly a good time. And when it was constant, hanging overhead…

Things were starting to make sense.

“What did the prophecy say about me?” Tony asked as they reached the dock. The boards creaked beneath his feet, and it added another grounding detail to the peaceful scenery. Wind picked up, and Tony breathed it in. _Calm_. “I mean, did it specifically tell you to be my friend, or what?”

“It suggested that an alliance with you would be a source of help,” Loki said. That sounded a lot like an oversimplification, but Tony decided to accept it. Giving this much info about something so personal had to be hard for Loki, and he didn’t feel a need to push. “There were no details as to the precise nature of our interactions.”

Tony blinked. “I bet that was alarming.”

“It was a certainly a surprise.”

Tony led him into the boat’s cabin. Then his momentum stalled. He had two choices: have this talk in the same place where they’d had the arguably disastrous last one, or have it in the extremely tiny bedroom below. His calm was struggling. His calm was slow-motion tripping over its own feet. His calm was going to face-plant into a rock.

Loki made the decision for them, coming to a stop by the cabin’s window and looking out at the sea.

Silent, Tony took a seat on the couch facing him. His pulse started to return to a comfortable range, but he couldn’t think of what to say next. It didn’t take skills of perception to tell that this was a time to tread lightly. He had no idea what had made Loki decide to reveal these things to him, but he didn’t want to screw it up. “If this prophecy has been driving you lately,” he said after a few moments. “Then is it how you found out about Coulson?”

There was a hum in affirmation.

Tony gave a half-smile. Yeah, he was starting to get used to this. “Can you give me a bit more than that? You’ve already told me the highlights. What’s in a few more details?”

“The devil, if you’re to borrow from a Midgardian saying.” Loki’s expression was a smirk in movement but not in much else. His hand clenched at his side in a complicated gesture that at one time probably would have gripped a knife hilt. It didn’t, and it also didn’t scare Tony as much as it once had. “But you may have your details, Stark.” He turned his back on the window. His eyes didn’t focus on Tony. “The prophecy echoes my actions in the waking world. When I pursued assistance outside of the dream, it was reflected within it as well. Coulson is that assistance.”

“Why Coulson?” Tony asked, bewildered. And what did it mean, exactly? Was there some representation of him, or was he actually _there?_ Because that last one would paint the coma in a new light, and Loki _had_ said that it was magical in nature.

“I am not certain.” It seemed like the admittance didn’t sit well with him. “He mentioned a new employer.”

“That’s kinda ominous, actually. Not knowing who’s playing around with your dreams.”

Loki shot him a look that said he was aware of that, thanks.

“Sorry,” Tony winced. “Foot in mouth. I’ve got it bad. What, uh… What else is in the dream?”

“Those I have killed. A path that fills with blood. The ocean.”

“The ocean? That doesn’t seem to be in keeping with the theme.”

“No,” Loki said, quiet. “No, it does not.”

And Tony’s mind whirred into action and latched onto a possibility. The boat shifted on the waves beneath them. “Us?”

Loki looked at him.

Tony didn’t flinch. “Do you think it’s us?” he asked again, steady, firm.

In the not-so-distant past, Tony wouldn’t have had the built-up awareness to catch Loki tense for movement. In the present, he did, but he still wasn’t prepared for the speed of it. Loki was standing by the window, and then he wasn’t: he was leaning over Tony, one hand braced on the back of the couch, casting Tony in shadow. Tony didn’t move, didn’t react, legs crossed, arms folded.

He just met Loki’s eyes, so much closer than they had been.

“And if it is?” Loki murmured, half a dare.

Rather than respond the way he immediately wanted to, namely to grab Loki by the collar and fucking kiss him already, Tony tried to think critically. That lasted a solid three seconds before Tony wholly rejected it as a plan. He was doing this. He was going to do this. Here was the time for decisions, and he was making one. They would have consequences to address later, but at the moment? He was tired; he was done.

Tony lifted his hand, open, obvious, and curled it around Loki’s neck. “I’d run with it,” he said, matching Loki’s tone as he felt a breath stutter beneath his palm. “You?”

The space between them felt fragile and ambiguous as silence filled it.

Then it tipped over, Loki sank forward, and Tony was being kissed. The ambiguity fractured, and Tony knew exactly what to do, couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted it. His hands were framing Loki’s face, fingers slipping through his hair. The kiss hurt. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the pressure or because of what they’d been through to get there, but it made Tony want to pull away and get closer at the same time. Loki settled above him, and Tony opened his eyes when he felt the weight of being straddled. He had the opportunity for a shallow gasp of a breath, and then they reconnected.

He wasn’t going to let him die. 

_Fuck,_ he was not---

He submerged the fear and refocused.

And a frission of disbelief wrapped around his heart and squeezed. He was kissing Loki. Loki’s hands were smoothing down his chest to clench at his sides, Loki’s laugh was parting his lips, Loki’s teeth were drawing a sliver of blood while his tongue soothed it away. It couldn’t be real. It _was_ real. Christ, he wanted him, wanted to---

He tightened his grip in Loki’s hair and separated them enough to say in a hoarse whisper, “This could be a huge mistake.”

Loki smiled. It was sharp, feral, would have looked at home in a bloodbath. “Then we should savor it while we can.”

Tony couldn’t argue. “If that works for you.” His expression lightened and he let his head fall back against the couch. His pulse was hammering in his chest. “C’mere.”

“Hmm.” Lifting a hand, Loki brushed his fingertips along the line of Tony’s jaw and drug a nail down his throat. “Perhaps I want to discuss philosophy some more.”

Incredulous, Tony gave him a blank stare.

Loki laughed, and it didn’t… it didn’t sound _happy_ , but it sounded genuine, and that took Tony’s breath away before the next kiss could. With humor still written all over his face, Loki leaned in and kissed him again. It was like someone had rewritten the script, and the parts of Tony that had been terrified of what he’d learned, the parts of him that had been buried under the weight of anxiety since all of this had started, were struck through. Because Loki had laughed, and wasn’t that what Tony had always done? Make a joke to the person at his side and then meet the hell head-on with them? They kissed, and Tony wanted them to get through this shit together.

And there it was. He’d figured out what he wanted.

A noise pinged from the end table.

Tony groaned. “No. No, phone. I’m ignoring you.”

The alert pinged again.

“If your phone does not stop,” Loki breathed into the space between them, gripping Tony’s hands and lowering them to his waist. “I’m going to hex it.”

This time when the alert went off, the sound was different, a higher pitch in triplicate.

“Shit, that’s the emergency alert.” Tony broke away, only half-aware of what was going on around him. “Hang on, I’ve, I’ve gotta. Gotta check---”

Now it was Loki’s turn to look incredulous, but Tony leaned sideways to reach with a flustered lack of accuracy across the cushions for his phone. There were a slew of notifications. Someone had tried to call several times, but it must have been while they were still out on the beach. There was a voicemail from Natasha, and the thing that had just been sent to him was a picture.

He opened it, and his blood ran cold.

Scrambling for context, he lifted the phone to his ear to listen to the message.

“ _Tony, Fury just called me in to see pictures from the dinner you went to. That thing that was hunting the people speaking out for Bruce? Well, there’s one like it in the crowd. We can’t tell if it’s watching you or Loki, but it’s there. Get home, now, or we’re coming to get you._ ”

“What is it?” Loki asked, catching the way he’d paled. He tilted Tony’s face so that he could meet his eyes. “ _Stark_ , tell me what’s happened.”

“Does… it,” Tony started. His voice seemed to come from far away. “Does it sound like the ocean’s in the cabin with us?”

“What?” There was real danger in Loki’s voice, but it wasn’t directed towards him.

Wordlessly, Tony turned his phone around so that he could see the picture on the screen. “Because we might have company.”


	16. Spirit and Letter

Instinctively, Loki raised a rudimentary shield around them. Such a simple defense was only strong enough to persist for perhaps two blows, but it would give him the time he needed to take hold of Stark and run if the necessity became immediate. With the same expenditure of energy, he released a consistent flow of his magic into the air around them. The action created a hum that Stark would not be able to hear but that could conceal their words from the specter. They needed to discuss whatever they could on the ship, now, because when Loki finally did run…

He would need to keep running.

“I don’t understand,” Stark said with the sort of bravado that often came just before panic. His eyes were fixed on Loki, but he was clearly fighting the impulse to search the room. “If it was watching us that night, why couldn’t you see it?”

Taking the phone from Stark’s hands, Loki studied the photograph in more detail. The outline of the specter was definitive, even partially concealed by the crowd. With a slow breath, he shifted to resettle at Stark’s side. He suppressed the tremor that sought to begin at his fingertips, fought for expediency and clarity of mind. “There could be several explanations. The first is that I am the target.” And if this was the work of Victor, then that was virtually guaranteed. The previous specter may well have been a rehearsal; it was far more likely than their current haunting being a coincidence. 

Loki would kill Victor for this. 

“The second is that the specter was a practitioner in life,” he continued, neat, ordered words that concealed the rage he could not allow to become a priority just yet. “Some spirits retain their abilities after death and would be capable of augmenting the spell binding them to this plane.” And if the individual the shape in the picture suggested was in fact the specter, then that was true as well. “The third is that it was summoned by someone who is currently taking measures to conceal it.” An act of which Victor was more than capable.

Stark clenched his teeth as he processed the information, his mouth still red from--- “If this new ghost can augment the spell, then that means the rules are different.” He sounded confident, every inch the hero. The façade was only a partial cover for fear, and that was more than could be said for most. It was strange how suddenly things could change: the quality had become appealing. When he slanted further into Loki’s side, he did not comment on the subconscious appeal for contact.

“Yes,” Loki confirmed. “And as of yet, we have no way of knowing what those new rules are.” He found the camera on Stark’s phone and surveyed the cabin in a measured circuit. It revealed nothing. He was unsurprised. “Unfortunately, photography may no longer be a reliable means of locating the creature, any more than my sight has been.”

“Once the summoning spell stabilized, the bastard who did it started working on the concealment you mentioned,” Stark guessed.

Loki nodded, frustrated anger roiling in his chest. That anger, and the steps he took to deny it space, was keeping his own fear at bay. He forced another deep breath and knew the poise could not be maintained indefinitely.

“That means the spell’s pretty new, if it stabilized between the party and now.” Stark made a noise of consideration. “The last one was after Bruce. Looks like it’s working its way through the Avengers.”

The deduction may as well have been a physical blow. It seemed that no matter how much truth he revealed to Stark, there was always more to say. “I believe I know who cast this spell. If I am correct, then I am the target,” Loki said, quiet, outwardly composed. Stark’s focus narrowed to him alone, evaluating with an intensity that was both wary and concerned. “The sound of the ocean _is_ in the cabin.” His eyes sank closed. “I have been dreaming of that sound for a long time, Stark. This is my death omen.”

“You are _not_ going to die.” The words were spoken with strength, with certainty.

Loki opened his eyes, wanting to see the expression that accompanied the statement. Stark’s mouth was set in a grim line, and he was observing Loki with the same fire of conviction that typically preceded a battle. Loki was startled to find that he believed him. When was the last time he had been devoured within the prophecy? He was not alone anymore.

Survival was possible.

Stark leaned in, brought a hand to Loki’s face, and kissed him like some final punctuation to his point. The touch was sweet, but there was anxiety in the way it lingered. As he pulled away, he murmured, “I need to call Natasha back and tell her I’m on the way home.”

“It may be wiser for me teleport you there rather than to trust a journey in this vessel.”

Judging from the emotion that flashed across Stark’s face, the thought had not yet occurred to him. There was a silent stretch in which Stark weighed caution against their new awareness of each other. His hand tightened briefly on Loki’s arm before he drew it away. “Okay,” he said simply.

Loki bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Stark’s conversation with Romanov was short and to the point: yes, they were alive; no, they would not be reckless; yes, he was on the way home; please, do not attack Loki when they landed. While they spoke, Loki considered his position. After all that had transpired between him and Stark, and in light of the circumstances, he could think of no reason to protect Victor’s identity. The likelihood was great, however, that Stark would want to attack Doom immediately. Such a course would be inadvisable.

Loki already had the beginnings of a plan. Would Stark want to hear it?

From somewhere nearby, Loki knew he was being watched by unseen eyes. A part of him wanted to challenge the creature, but it was not safe. Stark would be unable to defend himself in these conditions. Recklessness on Loki’s part would only get them killed.

( _You are not going to die._ )

“Thank you, Natasha,” Stark was saying into his phone. “I’ll see you soon.”

Loki stood and offered his hand the moment Stark ended the call. “Shall we leave?”

“Uh…” Stark was slow to get to his feet. His grip was loose when he took Loki’s hand, as if he was uncertain that the contact was permitted. “What is this going to be like, exactly?”

“We are not far from our destination,” Loki said, guiding Stark to stand in front of him. “I will be able to teleport directly there.” It would be a strain, but not a lasting one, and the speed would be worth it. “The jump will be nearly instantaneous. In the following seconds, it will feel as though you cannot breathe. That feeling will have already faded by the time you recognize it.”

Stark searched Loki’s face. “Promise we won’t end up half in a wall? It’s a fear of mine.”

Loki knew his sudden smile was far from comforting, but he said, “I promise.”

“Okay, then.” He shifted, awkward. “What do I…?”

And Loki remembered that Stark had little experience with magic and until very recently, they had been rather invested in killing or neutralizing one another. This was new territory. “Come closer,” he said, less urgent than before.

Whatever doubts Stark possessed, Loki watched them be defined and overcome in the change of his expression: color returning to his face, a slow breath that soothed misgiving into a thin but challenging smirk, curiosity behind his eyes. He complied, drawing near and resting his hands on Loki’s shoulders. Automatically, Loki’s arms came up around his waist, and it became important to countermand their wavering attention and remain on task.

The muscles in Stark’s back were tense; he was not as calm as he was attempting to appear. Loki smoothed the palm of one hand down his spine. “Are you ready?”

Stark swallowed. “Yeah.”

Loki shattered the improvised shield, brought his magic to bear, and moved them. 

The spell seeped into them like ink, a complex redrawing of their location. Its familiarity relieved some of Loki’s anxiety and returned a sharper awareness to him. He was able to feel his passenger’s hands spasm, fingers clenching in the fabric of Loki’s shirt. In the between space before they reached the mansion, shock widened Stark’s eyes, awash with green light. Alarm gave way to wonder, and the emotion was electric, alive. All Loki wanted to do was take the time to show him so much _more_ , but time was something they did not have.

Then they were standing on a walkway leading to the door of the Avengers’ home.

“Oh my god,” Stark managed in a rasp, looking at Loki like he wanted to never stop asking questions.

Loki smiled at him, attention divided, already planning several steps ahead. He needed to leave, quickly, before the specter could discern his direction. The living had difficulty matching speed with spirits, and he would require as great of an advance start as possible. “I should leave before your team decides they do not approve of my presence on their front lawn,” he said as he fully registered the gravity of where he had come. When had he become so trusting of Stark’s judgment? Unwilling to display that doubt, he raised a hand and cupped the side of Stark’s face. “I will be in contact with more information. Do not act rashly in the meantime. The specter will pursue me, but I have a plan of action.”

Something flashed in Stark’s expression, flint. “You’re not going to leave me in the dark, are you?”

“No. I swear it.” Loki’s attention darted to the windows over Stark’s shoulder. Movement: they were being watched. He removed his hand. “But at this moment there is not enough time to explain.”

Stark reached out and gripped his forearm when he started to turn away. “Be careful.” The words were meant to sound commanding, but the tone was too desperate to achieve it. He thought of ground glass, broken and jagged. “Don’t try to do this alone.”

Searchingly, Loki watched the man in front of him. Stark was concerned for his safety. No, concern was not the correct word: Stark was afraid. “I will not,” Loki said, quiet. He memorized Stark’s expression. Later, when dreams and poor history tried to rob him of it, he would need to remind himself what it was to have this man’s regard. “Goodbye.”

Stark let go, stepping back, still looking so very desperate. “Bye, Loki.”

There was no time for comfort. 

He left.

\---

Loki landed on one knee, hand outstretched, on the cold tile of England’s kitchen. “Scion!” he called out in warning, voice raw. The pounding of his heart was heavy in his ears, but not loud enough to drown out the sound that followed on his heels; his nightmare had found him.

“Must you always make such a mess of my wards?” England said as he rounded the corner. He looked annoyed, a blanket hanging over his shoulders, and a steaming cup between his hands. The space under his eyes was dark. “Some people like to enjoy their days off without---”

The specter struck the wards at full speed but was unable to pass through, thrashing in the close-knit spellwork and becoming ensnared. It was still invisible to Loki, but he could feel the pressure exerted by its presence.

“ _What in the name of---_ ”

Waves crashed where there were none, angry, persistent. The wards let out a distressed hum and persisted despite the onslaught.

“Did you lead a displaced _spirit of vengeance_ to my _house?_ ” England demanded, rushing to his side. The blanket fell to the floor, and England lifted a hand towards the ceiling, towards the creature fighting for entrance into his home.

Loki shot upright and snapped, “That is not important at the moment.”

“I beg to differ!” he returned in a hiss, bristling to a degree that would have been comical under different circumstances.

“What does it look like?” The picture had given him every clue, but he wouldn’t further his plans until he had confirmation. As the target, Loki could not see it, but that restriction may not apply to England. “Describe it!”

The request only prompted more incredulous anger. “An explanation would be very---”

“The creature was summoned to hunt me down and kill me,” Loki gritted out. “What does it look like?”

That drained the color from the nation’s face, and he shifted from indignation to action. Magic coalesced at England’s fingertips as he made alterations to base levels, specifying the fortifications to their current foe. He might not possess raw power, but the attention to detail bespoke experience. Loki took note of the information, filed it away. “I don’t know! Ah…” He squinted up into the chaotic mass. “A shark man!”

“I knew it,” Loki snarled, vicious.

England stiffened. “Well, I’m glad one of us knows _something._ ”

“How long can your wards stand against it?” Loki demanded. There would be an opportunity to address England’s objections after they were no longer in danger. Until then, they had greater problems. “I need a time table.”

A muscle jumped in England’s jaw, but he answered. “If the spirit continues with its current level of intensity, it will take approximately five days to break through into my home.”

Loki breathed, calmed. 

Five days would be sufficient. For the moment, he was safe. The spirit was unlikely to tear its attention away from its current enterprise, which meant that Stark would be secure as well. Even if it did abandon the undertaking, they would know and be able to issue a warning. “I need your help,” Loki said once he was collected enough to speak again.

“Oh? Is that what this is?” England asked, an unhappy twist to his mouth that would have been cruel if not for the carefully obscured concern. “Thank you for clarifying. I wouldn’t have been able to put that one together.”

Ignoring the comment, Loki inquired, “May I use your phone?”

“Certainly,” he said. “After you tell me what in the hell is going on.”

That was, of course, an understandable request to make. Loki hesitated, his focus split between the wards encapsulating the home and the nation watching him. Once again, the question was where to start. He’d been divulging _so_ many secrets lately. Apparently, he was still falling from the great leap he’d taken with Stark (the sounds he’d made when Loki had pressed him back and---). He refocused on the living room, eyes finding the couch. Making his way there, he asked, “Tea?”

England’s stare could be felt at the base of his skull. There was a pause before he completed his assessment of the situation and elected to land on his feet. Then, “Yes. One moment.”

While England was occupied in the kitchen, Loki took the opportunity to construct an outline of events in his mind. Having the framework made it simpler to follow a cohesive account when England set a chipped cup down in front of him. “The spirit belonged to a man I fought and killed in the Solomon Isles,” he said in return for the gesture. “A man who was theoretically allied with both myself and Victor von Doom. Victor betrayed me, and this man acted on his behalf. While the Avengers battled Victor, I dealt his underling a fatal blow.” Loki fit his hands around the cup, swallowed a mouthful. “But before he died, he cast a spell. I was trapped in a dome that fed on magic.”

England was shrewd. “How did you escape if you could not properly access your powers?”

“I was trapped with Tony Stark.” A great deal could be extrapolated from that sentence, but divulging Stark’s involvement could not be avoided in the long run. “The dome landed in the ocean. We were able to escape using the blood of the betrayer’s familiars.”

“Judging from his appearance, I presume that you mean the sharks in the water.”

“Yes.”

There were a few silent moments while England sorted through the information. “How powerful of a practitioner was this man?” 

Loki frowned. “Not particularly powerful. His greatest achievement appeared to be that dome. I had assumed that was why Victor approached him.”

“And this spirit…” England lifted his cup of tea, mouth forming a sharp, crooked smile. “Was it summoned by Victor?”

“Yes.” And as soon as he said it, he understood the scope.

England drank, lowered the cup. “Then it seems to me, he intended for this man to die. He knew that in life, he was not a viable threat. Once dead, however…”

“His ability to drain magic would make him especially qualified to kill me,” Loki concluded, quiet. Had this been his design all along, or had it been their last confrontation that had prompted the attack? Either way, Loki intended to orchestrate an unfortunate end for _dear_ Victor in the near future. His nails bit into his palm as he clenched one hand, the other gentle around his cup. 

“I have a guest room.” England rose from his chair and motioned for Loki to follow. “I suggest you use it.” 

\---  
\----  
\---

Tony was watching Beauregard swim in complicated little spirals. “I wish I was a shark,” he said, because it was easier than saying _today I made out with an ex-enemy who I’m definitely falling for, and also we’re being chased by a homicidal magic ghost_. Somewhere out there, Loki was probably in a lot of trouble. Worry and wide jolts of dread kept cycling through him, and his current inability to help made some of that emotion translate into anger. He was mad that this was happening again, he was mad that he was on the sidelines, he was mad that he hadn’t gotten any information before Loki left, and he was mad that he now had to construct an explanation. His anger was directed in the wrong place, but understanding that and being able to actually change it were two very different accomplishments.

But maybe anger was better than the alternative. 

As ridiculous as it sounded in his own head, Tony was terrified of fear.

“I wouldn’t say things like that around enchanted objects,” Bruce said mildly.

“Point,” Tony granted. Resolve ceded him control, and he lifted his chin off his arms, straightened, and sat back in his chair. He shouldn’t draw this out.

Steve seemed to take his movement as a sign that he was ready to talk and asked, “Tony, what’s going on?”

“I’m guessing Natasha gave you the basics,” he said, shooting her an enquiring look. When she nodded, he continued. “It’s another ghost like the one that was after Bruce’s supporters. This time it’s after Loki, and there’s a possibility it might come after me too.” He spun Bo’s ring on his finger. “Loki said he thinks he knows who’s behind it, but he didn’t have time to give me the rundown. I got the impression it can zero in on him somehow, and he wanted to get me here as quick as possible so he could outrun it to somewhere else.” 

And he really hoped he had made it to wherever he was going. He hoped it was place with ultra-impressive defenses and ghost-fighting capabilities. 

Why hadn’t he heard anything yet?

_You are not going to die_ , Tony had told him, and meant it. A glance from Clint made him realize how obvious the fidgeting was, and Tony crossed his arms over his chest, tight. “He said he’d call with more information, but he knows for certain that this ghost is going to be following a different set of rules than the last one. Apparently, whoever summoned it could be concealing it somehow, and Loki also said the ghost could be from someone who used magic when they were alive.”

“Does Loki know how to stop it?” Natasha asked.

“He said he had a plan. I don’t have details.”

“Figures,” Clint muttered.

Tony’s heart jumped, but he put the sensation aside. “Did the silhouette look familiar to you?” he directed at Natasha, trying not to get stuck on the disbelief in Clint’s voice.

She shrugged. “I thought it might be that guy claiming to be a shark god. The one from the Solomon Isles.”

“Same here,” Clint said. “That’s a very distinctive fin.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Tony said, nodding sharply. If they’d all come to that conclusion, then wouldn’t Loki have too? He forced his jaw to unclench. “Which is what’s making me think Doom might be behind this. He’s the one who brought shark guy into that fight, he’s got the motive, and as juiced as he’s become magically speaking, he’s probably got the power.”

When Bruce spoke, his voice was quiet. “If Doom conjured this ghost, then wouldn’t it follow that he conjured the first one as well?”

A shock of cold washed over Tony.

If that had been--- had Loki known?

“I think it’d make more sense than it being coincidental,” Steve said. He sounded speculative. “But we need to find a way to verify it on both accounts before we can act. Taking a battle to Victor is complicated, given his position. We have to be careful not to spark an international incident.” 

A collective wince went through the group. They really didn’t need a repeat of past disasters.

Steve reached out, touched Tony’s shoulder tentatively. “Tony, if it is Doom, would Loki be able to obtain proof?”

“I’ll ask him.” He was going to ask him a lot of things (what do you want, what haven’t you told me, can this be headed anywhere good). “Guess we’ve got to wait for that phone call, or whatever,” he added, cavalier as he could manage, pushing himself to his feet. The doctored nonchalance felt brittle. “Where’s Thor?”

Worry worked its way onto Steve’s face. “Out with Jane. They’re on their way back. Why?”

_I need to come clean about romancing his brother and ask for some advice about trusting him_. “Just curious where our missing man was.” He turned away. “I’m going down to the lab. Might as well be productive while I wait.”

He didn’t comment when Bruce picked up his tea and followed him.

\---

“I kissed him,” Tony blurted out as soon as the lab’s doors had closed behind them, because if he didn’t tell someone, his head was going to fall off. There were too many secrets. He wasn’t built for this. Somewhere nearby, fear was getting ready to breathe down his neck, and he needed to talk before that happened. “He kissed me. We kissed each other.” 

Once the words were out of his mouth, an icy slide of panic went through him, but he kept himself above it, barely. It felt a lot like when he was first learning how to fly in the armor: one false move and he’d crash. Regardless of how he felt, was saying something the smart thing to do? Fury had told him that he wasn’t the first one on their side to become involved with an enemy, so it probably wasn’t damning on its own. But just because it was an idea that wouldn’t get him locked away, it didn’t mean that it was automatically an idea that was _good_. This probably wasn’t an either/or scenario.

Except, fuck it, _Bruce_ was the one standing in front of him, watching the chaotic spill of emotion play out, and listening to him panic via word jumble.

He trusted Bruce.

Bruce’s expression shifted, but it was subtle, something at the corners of his eyes, nearly imperceptible tension in his mouth. He found a place to sit down comfortably before he responded. “I thought that might have happened.”

Tony froze, halfway through running his hand through his hair, because his friend was a psychic maybe. “ _How?_ ”

“You’ve been acting like a guy with a crush for a while now, Tony,” Bruce said with a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You might as well be wearing a caption.” The tone that Bruce used reminded Tony of when he’d gone to him about the puzzle box, of when he’d sat on the edge of Bruce’s mattress and realized that the reason Bruce looked sick was because he’d dreamed of Loki. 

The impact that Loki had made on their lives was deep, had the kind of jagged edges that did further damage if close attention wasn’t paid. He knew--- down to the bone--- that Bruce would support him, but that didn’t mean the pain wasn’t there.

It felt like the distance between them was getting too solid, and Tony needed to do something about that, so he sat down beside him on the bench. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. His hands clenched over the bench’s edge. Everything kept oscillating back and forth. The minute he made a decision, new information got thrown in his direction, and keeping up with it all was head-spinning. Wondering if Loki had known who was targeting Bruce? That made him think of the bad more than the good. “How can I be with someone my friends have nightmares about?”

“I can’t speak for the whole team, but for myself? You evaluate whether that someone has any intentions of giving them new ones,” Bruce answered, like it was simple, like he was several steps further in an experiment but was patient enough to guide Tony through it. “If they don’t, you try and make it work. If they do, you leave them.”

Tony nodded, a lump in his throat. His vision tried to swim, but he didn’t let it. “I can do that.”

Bruce gave him a minute to gather himself around that last statement and then asked, “How serious is it?” Because he had a preternatural knack for finding the hard questions that still needed to be asked.

For half a beat, Tony considered lying. This wasn’t disclosing feelings for just anybody, and it wasn’t something he could take back. But if he started lying now, he wasn’t sure where it would stop. He didn’t want to get in that cycle, and he definitely didn’t want to get in that cycle with his friends.

God, all this self-reflection after only a handful of kisses? What was he in for, exactly? Pepper was going to give him hell later. Pepper was…

“I think we could be something,” he confessed, a little hoarse. The second the words were in the open, a tremor started between his shoulders and spread out. “But I’m holding something back too. A part of me still wonders if it’s a con, and I’m---” the grip of his hands tightened, but he forced them loose again, tried to look relaxed. “I’m not sure I’m ready to---” _I’m not sure I’m completely over Pepper._

“I hear you,” Bruce said, and somehow, it was the most comforting set of words that could have been strung together.

“Thank you,” Tony told him, sincere. He honestly wished it was possible to let Bruce feel the amount of gratitude he was trying to cram into those two words. Just when Tony debated saying that out loud, his phone rang.

With the lab’s lights reflecting off his glasses, Bruce gave him an expectant glance.

“If that’s not Loki, I might scream,” Tony said, because he was a fair-warning kind of guy. He fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. The number wasn’t one that he recognized, and a sliver of anticipation wormed its way through his S-Class stress level. “JARVIS? Any information?”

“ _The call is from London, sir._ ”

At first, all he could do was stare at the number. He couldn’t tell if he was sure it was Loki because it made the most sense or because he was just that hopeful. Steeling himself, he answered, “Hello?”

“ _Stark._ ”

Tony closed his eyes, shielded them with one hand. “Loki.” The relief was actually painful. He was in actual pain. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“ _I am in a secure location. The specter is here, but it is unable to reach me._ ”

He was safe.

Whatever else was happening, Loki was safe.

Now that he could set aside some of the situation’s uncertainty, the feeling that took its place was hungry, searing, less easy to identify. That feeling wanted a lot of things: for Loki to be all right, for Loki to give him answers, to be there with him or to have him here with Tony. No matter what it was, desperation or anger or concern, it gave his thoughts precision. “Well?” he prompted, strong, clear. “Bring me out of the dark.”

There was a sound on the other end of the line, an exhale. “ _Yes, as I promised. The spell is the work of Victor von Doom, and the specter belongs to the man who created the dome._ ” Hesitation came next, and that fact caught all of Tony’s considerable attention. When he did speak, Loki sounded drained. “ _He was behind the first specter as well. I did not reveal his identity to you then because I believed I could preserve both alliances. I know now that I cannot._ ” A soft, humorless laugh. “ _No, that’s untrue--- I know that I no longer wish to._ ” The implication being that he’d chosen Tony. Another pause stretched out, and it hit home how far away Loki was; Tony just wanted to kiss him. “ _It is unrelated to this current debacle, but Victor has also made comments in the past that led me to believe he has spies in your organization. I would like to help you remove them once this is over, if you will allow it._ ”

Tony’s breath stuck in his throat. That floored him a little. A lot. A whole damn lot, actually.

“Hey, I get it,” he interjected, careful. “At the start of all this, we said we’d pass along information as long as it didn’t endanger another ally. If you’d told me that then, the Avengers would have gone after Doom.” Tony swallowed and tried to feel the same understanding that he was portraying. On a factual level, it was all true, but there was an emotional aspect that didn’t match up. “You’d have kept the secret for me if my position and Doom’s were reversed.”

He’d wanted revenge. He’d wanted to find the person responsible for those deaths, and he’d wanted to make them pay. Had it been a betrayal on Loki’s part not to reveal Doom’s involvement? It hadn’t gone against what they’d agreed to, but it still felt wrong. Tony didn’t know how to define it, and because of that, he didn’t know how to define his reaction either.

“ _I have known from the beginning what Victor was capable of. I should have anticipated that even if_ I _could fulfill an alliance with you and with him, eventually Victor would provide a conflict of interest too great to be set aside_.” There was a sound of movement on the other end of the line, as if Loki had gotten up to walk. “ _I should have realized that I would have to choose. I should have told you sooner._ ”

“We’re on a learning curve,” Tony said, shaking his head. “You helped us defeat the specter, and you told me the truth just now.” Even though Tony had figured it out already, and he wasn’t sure if that counted. Still, the truth was the truth. And the spies--- he hadn’t known about that, and it hadn’t been relevant to their present situation. It was information freely offered. Nonetheless, his voice went cold. “And now you’re going to help us defeat Doom.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, devoid of inflection. “I am.”

Tony looked up at Bruce, who was watching him attentively. He tried to convey that everything was okay with a smile and a casual wave of his hand. “What’s the plan?”

“ _We remove the specter’s shackles and redirect its anger at Victor_ ,” Loki answered. Everything in the statement was calm. Tony wondered what it felt like, to have that kind of design against someone that might have been considered a comrade. It wasn’t the same as with Obadiah; Loki’s eyes had been open the whole time.

“And how do we do that?” he asked, because yet again, magic was central to the program. When this was over, he was going to request a crash course in all things enchanted.

Loki sounded like a guy who had an ace in the hole when he replied, “ _I have a contact who may be able to get close to his lab._ ”

“Sounds promising,” Tony said. Just how wide of a network did Loki have? “What do you need from me?”

“ _Information. I am isolated, at present._ ”

“Well, you’re just playing right into my talents.” Tony leaned forward, interest peaked. Finally, something he could _do_. “Tell me what you’re looking for.”

\---  
\----  
\---

When he finished his conversation with Stark, Loki left the guest room. The lighting was dim from the overcast day and the drawn curtains. It gave his surroundings the impression of age, and he could not help but wonder how long England had lived in the house. Floorboards creaked beneath the rug outside his door and on the stairs, announcing his presence to England in the kitchen. The nation stood with his back against the counter, eyes focused on the ceiling. Loki waited at the threshold and wondered what he was seeing.

Without shifting his attention, England extended his hand, and Loki returned his phone. “I suppose it’s my turn, then,” he said.

“Victor keeps his labs well-guarded,” Loki broached, bracing himself opposite his host. “What makes you so certain that your contact will be able to reach the array?”

“I doubt the guards will suspect their own nation of espionage,” England said wryly.

Loki arched his eyebrows. “Latveria?”

“We are not particularly close, but we do have a working relationship.” England scrolled through something on his phone, presumably his contacts. “He owes me a favor, and he is not fond of Doom.” Whatever he was looking for, he found it. “Latveria doesn’t practice magic, but if he agrees, I should be able to give him instructions on how to disrupt the spell enough to break Victor’s control over the specter.”

“And if he does not agree? If he conveys your conversation to Victor?”

“Then we’ll have a problem on our hands.” England smirked, gallows humor. “What’s one more to add to the pile?”

“I dislike you,” Loki lied, scowling.

England flashed him a crooked grin. “I believe I’ll survive.”

Images of England’s skeleton, bloodied and hung with scraps of flesh, flashed through Loki’s memory, but he didn’t let it into his expression. He conjured a sneer instead. “I’m sure.” As he spoke, a shiver ran through the wards, and Loki looked up, away from England. He still could not see the spirit, only its effects. With every burst of light, the sound of the ocean pulsed louder. “We should proceed quickly,” he said, and his words did not waver.

“Agreed.” England pressed a button and brought the phone to his ear. “Time to try our luck.”

\---

It happened in the middle of the night.

Loki hadn’t been able to sleep. An anonymous hotel possessed an element of comfort, but knowing that he was sharing a roof with another practitioner made sleep impossible. He did not really believe that England would cause him harm; the adrenalin building up in him throughout each passing hour did not seem to understand that, however. The specter’s presence in addition to those factors did little to help matters. Fortunately, the room’s shelves boasted several tomes on Midgardian spellwork, and they provided an interesting diversion.

He was sitting on the bed, skimming the pages spread out in front of him, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His breath stuttered out, and he tensed, eyes widening.

Down the hall, he heard England’s door slam open. “Loki!” he inquired, on the edge of panic.

“I’m all right,” he called back, getting to his feet and rising to meet him. His hand shook when he opened the door, and he fought to redirect the anxiety, to make it fuel.

“It’s the wards,” England said in a rush. Confusion slowly gave way to dread in his expression. “I don’t understand it, but---”

A crash like roiling waves seemed to shake the walls of the house. The hall light flickered.

Loki altered his sight, searching the wards, looking for inconsistencies. 

England lifted a hand to point at the shimmering script aligning with his front door. In the space over the threshold, there was a purple glow, incongruent with the green of England’s spellwork. His voice was hushed. “I did not write those lines.”

Fear found its place inside Loki’s chest. “That is the specter’s work. It is part of an anchor sequence for the dome.”

England stepped back to stand at Loki’s shoulder. “How large of a dome can be produced?”

Surely the specter could not hope to engulf the entire house. It couldn’t possibly be sustainable. The level of power that would need to be fed into it was too great. And yet… how much did he really know about what its origin had been capable of in life? Or what steps towards augmentation had been taken? Loki watched the small orb of purple expand another several inches. “I…” He wet his lips, tried again. “I do not know.”


End file.
